Fading Insecurities
by damnitjane
Summary: Stuck in Beirut with the manipulative Erica Flynn, who has information they need and is in danger herself, Lisbon finds herself reliving past insecurities when it comes to Erica and Jane's past. Can Jane convince Lisbon she is his one and only? That Erica isn't a threat?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rut in Beirut

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

His blonde hair shone in the heat of the afternoon sunshine as he stood on the side of the street. Waving his hand, he pulled his bag closer to his side and turned to grab her bag from her, her brown hair flowing over her white cotton shirt in a straight cascade distracting him for a moment from the torturous heated air. The white colored taxi pulled up in front of the Beirut-Rafic Hariri International Airport, the driver getting out and opening the trunk.

"After you," Jane told Lisbon, opening the door for her before settling beside her and slamming the door shut.

Jane raked a sweaty hand through his curls and sighed. He could sense that Lisbon didn't like the reason they were in a foreign country, and he didn't blame her for it. As he watched the driver come back around and get into the driver's seat of the taxi, he cleared his throat and handed him a few Lebanese pound notes and pointed straight ahead.

"The Phoenicia Hotel, Please," he told the driver, sitting back and pulling at his suit jacket. "I trust you know the way."

The driver nodded his head and pulled out from the airport. Jane turned to look at Lisbon, who was looking out the window at the sights that blurred past them in the shimmering heat of the day, making waves of heat trickle off the concrete sidewalks. He took the chance to take in her profile, as he did so often when she wasn't looking. She chose a white cotton shirt that clung to her in the oppression, and jeans that rolled up to her ankles and hugged her waist, where the shirt tucked into. Her hair was straight now; she had decided a change was in order before they left, sweeping her bangs to the side in a side-swept line. Her jaw was set, indicating she was irritated, but not exactly angry.

"We'll wrap this one up quickly," he told her, placing a palm on her knee and rubbing. "Abbott thinks it'll be easy."

She turned to him and smiled that smile that melted his heart and made his stomach flutter. It was the kind of smile that stunned you into place and you felt as if you couldn't move; under a spell of two perfect lips locking into one upward curve. Her hand curved over his on her knee, her thumb rubbing gently in small circles.

"Yeah," she told him, "I know."

"We get to visit a beautiful country, stay at a luxury hotel and spend time together," he responded, "all paid for compliments of Abbott and the FBI."

"We shouldn't even be trusting her, Jane," Lisbon told him, her eyes narrowing at the thoughts he no doubt knew she was thinking. "She's a murderer and an escapee, and I can't believe Abbott is actually thinking she is going to help and not hinder the investigation."

She, as Lisbon preferred to call her, was Erica Flynn, herself. Jane had been shocked, himself, to hear the name again. It was a case that Abbott had been working, about gun runners bringing illegal weapons over from Beirut in frozen meat shipment crates through boats, several that were used in various crimes in the Austin area. Jane was buying flowers for Lisbon when the call had come. Erica Flynn was on the other line, and she was selling him a story he couldn't help but run by Abbott. Abbott, anxious to get these guns off the streets, agreed to the terms Erica had relaid to Jane. There were questions of trusting her, and Abbott was less than pleased at her files from the murder investigation into her husband's death and her escape right under Jane's nose, but he felt if there was a chance to catch them, he'd bite. Lisbon wasn't very happy, and if she wasn't made to go, she probably wouldn't have come even now. She didn't trust her, and he couldn't blame her. But, in his heart, Jane sensed something else bothering her. Something she didn't want to discuss. He didn't press her. At least, not for the moment.

"She's smart," he told her. "She's asking for immunity because all her money from her hidden off-shore accounts are drying up."

"So she can return to the States," Lisbon added. "I hope the information she has is worth all this trouble."

He nodded his head in agreement as the taxi came to a full stop in front of the hotel. Jane craned his neck to look at the tall building. It had a grand front. The gold letters spelling out the hotel's name gleamed in the sunshine, blinding his eyes as they scanned the buildings façade.

"No expense spared," Lisbon mumbled beside him. "This is better than the FBI headquarters."

Jane got out and helped Lisbon to the sidewalk, the driver lifting their bags from the trunk and handing them to Jane. Tipping the driver, Jane and Lisbon made their way up a few stairs and through the double glass doors bidding them entrance into the giant lobby, which was decorated in white marble and expensive rugs and oversized potted plants. There were people waiting against a wall near the counter and the sign there said: CHECK INS/OUTS.

"I guess that's the front desk," Jane said, his head ticking toward the line of people. "I'll check us in."

"Okay," she told him, placing her hands in her pockets. "I'll wait here."

Jane reached the counter (the people in line were waiting for the bellhop to come show them to their rooms), and greeted the man behind the counter with his name. Abbott had booked the room for them, and Jane was pleasantly surprised to know that Abbott had only booked one room...with one bed. Abbott knew about them being together, because he had to talk TSA into letting him go, telling the officer that it was out of desperation for love. Abbott had always known they loved each other from the time he laid eyes on them. Abbott, actually, was responsible for their relationship. Them sharing a bed was nothing new, and wouldn't be a surprise to Lisbon.

A few days after he bore out his soul and lined with his soul mate, and after his ankle healed enough, they had shared a bed for the first time at the Blue Bird lodge. Their lovemaking was slow and placid that night, the ease of their bodies moving in unison with one another as the water from the ocean outside banged against the rocks. They had taken it slow and steady, but exploring everything that needed to be explored between them. The soft moans that issued from Lisbon as his fingers touched long wanted parts of her; the sweat of the sheets sticking to their equally sweaty bodies. The next few nights were just as peaceful, only faster and harder than before. Now, a month later, there was no peacefulness to their lovemaking. It was animalistic and wild, both unable to find the slowness that paced them. There was too much need between them, now. There was no awkwardness to sleeping in one bed. Jane welcomed it, and he knew Lisbon would, too.

Jane returned with the room key in hand, his thoughts traveling to the nights of passion that were still brand new to them and the one single queen sized bed waiting for them upstairs. They got on the elevator and made their way to their room, sliding inside and shutting the door.

"Wow," Lisbon muttered, looking around and placing her hands on her hips. "Nice."

The room was large, and there was a balcony stretching out of the side of the hotel, overlooking the Mediterranean sea. The bed, set dead center in the room, was covered in the finest silk sheets they had ever seen, and the duvet was a lace white eyelet. Turning around and hugging herself, she looked at Jane and smiled.

"What?"

"It feels like the Blue Bird, only more fancy," she told him, walking up to him and taking the bags from him.

Lisbon tossed the bags on the bed and walked into his waiting arms. They automatically came to close around her, pulling her tighter into his chest. He kissed her hair and felt her sigh against him.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" he asked her, still in the embrace of her warmth. "There's a fancy restaurant I saw on the way here."

She turned her head so that her chin rested on his chest and pursed her lips. He loved when she did that with her lips. It made them fuller, and her plump lips did things to him. He smiled at her. A wide, knowing smile. He knew her quirks and mannerisms. She wasn't thinking of food at the moment, and she knew that he knew.

"Actually..." she trailed off, nodding her head toward the bed. "We're alone in this nice room, the bed is so nicely made...I think we ought to break it in," she offered, biting her lip as his hands played at the ends of her long hair in the middle of her back.

"I think-" he started, his phone interrupting him from completing his thought. It was ringing in his jacket pocket. Lisbon groaned and disengaged herself from him, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jane groaned and reached to answer his phone. He said hello but didn't get to say anything else. He listened, closed his phone and sighed. He walked over and sat down beside Lisbon on the bed, taking her chin in his hand so that her eyes had to meet his.

"Rain check?" he asked her softly. "There is someone down in the lobby whom I have to talk to."

"And you're making me stay here?"

"She said he won't talk to me with cops around," he explained to her, trying to soften the hurt in her eyes. "Even though you aren't dressed like one, you scream cop with your mannerisms, love. I promise to make it up to you in any way you like."

"She..." Lisbon trailed off. "You mean Erica."

"Yeah," he didn't even attempt to lie. What would be the use? "She says he has important information related to our case."

She sighed and then leaned her forehead on his. "Rain check, then."

He leaned down to kiss her, his lips crushing hers softly. Lisbon's hand came up to touch his cheek, and he nearly said _fuck _the guy in the lobby and took her there, but he had to show restraint, because they were here to do a job first. He broke the kiss and stood, catching her hand in his.

"Wait for me," he told her, walking to the door and exiting the room, leaving Lisbon sitting there alone in a bed he desperately wanted to tear to pieces with her. _This lead better be goddamn good_, he thought bitterly. I_ could be breaking a headboard I don't have to fix later._

**.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.**

She watched the door close and flopped back on the bed, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. She hated why they were here. The word of a murderer and an escaped convict shouldn't be enough to uproot them all the way to Lebanon. However, at the beck-and-call of said convict, here they were. Erica Flynn was nothing but trouble. Just thinking of her name made Lisbon groan internally. There was another name associated with the likes of Erica, and that was _seductress_.

"What are you up to, this time?" Lisbon asked to the open air of the large room. "What's your game?"

She thought back, in the blindness behind her closed eyes, about Erica Flynn's methods. She was manipulative and smart, like Jane, and used her womanly charms to extract and control. She didn't trust her one bit. That was her problem, here. She trusted Jane completely, but she didn't trust Erica at all. She wanted immunity so she could return to the united states, and in return, she provide information about the gun runners. She could have contacted anyone in particular about this case, yet she chose to call Jane. Lisbon was still unsure how she had even gotten his phone number. And they had...

"History," Lisbon finished aloud.

Yes. History. She didn't like the way he had needed Erica, either. Lisbon tried to warn him that she was only playing him, but he had insisted that she help on that one case, even going as far as making a video for her matchmaking firm. She even still remembered that they were eating at a fancy restaurant before Erica manipulated him for the last time and escaped with lots of money in her possession and in her off-shore accounts.

All Lisbon wanted was time with him to herself. No distractions, no cases, no murderous and flirty escapees...just him and her, seeing the sights, eating fancy meals and tearing every surface of this room apart with their bodies. How can all that happen when Erica Flynn pulls Jane by his hair into territory that should have been forgotten a long time ago? Why not live her days out here in Lebanon and forgo the wanting to come back to the United States? She's manipulative enough to con money or get it in other illegal ways...Who was to say she wasn't in on this gun-running thing, anyway?

She tried to pull her mind from Flynn and think of something else. There was no use in lying here thinking of things she couldn't change, no matter how much she wished she could. Her thoughts flipped to Jane. Particularly, the things that had developed between them. The change that occurred was exciting. She willed herself to imagine the first time they kissed in that TSA cell, his lips enveloping hers, probing her to open her mouth and match his intensity. She remembered the way his jaw flexed under her fingertips as her hand rested on his cheek. It was then that her embarrassment on the plane was all but forgotten, and things changed with them after.

She rolled over on her side and opened her eyes. She didn't need to imagine it behind her eyes; she could feel it in the way it mattered: in her heart. She could still feel his fingers running along her spine that first night they had sex. The way his hands were bigger than most of her body gave him the advantage of exploring areas in one pass, but he lingered where it counted; his lips could find hers in the dark with no problem, and she always could feel his curls on her cheek as he went down, pressing her as firmly into him as he could; she smiled at the memories; she could still almost feel the slickness of their bodies as the sheets stuck to her back in a matted mess, and the way the sweat stuck him to her like glue, her hands curving over his shoulder blades and falling down his back as the wetness on his skin pooled at her palms.

He knew where to touch her and how. He knew the points to get her back off the mattress, and he used them to tease her. The sex had been slow the first few times, each wanting to take it easy and find what the other liked, but it had intensified after that. Lisbon woke up sore the first time they participated in the wildness of want, her lips were swollen and red and her thighs were burning angry. Jane had not held back, and she didn't complain, either. She loved that side of him, and often craved it, and he was very willing to give into her request.

Surely, there was no competing with what they had, now. Whether or not Erica Flynn was in their lives again or not, there was only room for each other. So why did she feel so unnerved by it? Was it jealousy? Could she actually be jealous that the woman who had history with Jane was once again gaining his attention? She returned to her back and sat up, placing her head in her hands. Was she, Teresa Lisbon, actually _jealous_ of Erica Flynn? Did she have a reason to be worried about this jealousy? Did she fear competition from Erica Flynn? But that was ridiculous. She knew Jane was hers. She knew Jane would never do anything to break that. She wasn't so sure Erica played by the same rules.

See could see that this was going to be one _hell_ of a case.

**.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.**

Jane spotted the balding man as he exited the elevator. He was sitting on a bench in the lobby, a cigar expelling smoke from the tip like a chimney. He knew this was the man waiting for him because Erica had mentioned he would be waiting in the exact location he was staring at now. The man, who was thin and gaunt, looked up at him as he approached and looked beyond Jane and then motioned for him to take a seat beside him on the bench.

"Sit down," he told Jane in a thick Lebanese accent. "You're making attention."

Jane sat down beside the man, waving thick smoke out of his face. He waited for the man to speak first, but he did not, so he cleared his throat and looked around the lobby before locking his gaze back on the smoking man.

"You have some information for me," Jane finally said, licking his dry lips. "I'm listening."

"The female isn't accompanying you?" he asked Jane, not bothering with the main reason for the meeting. "She's a cop, no?"

Jane hesitated. Erica must have known Lisbon was with him. Either that, or they were watching them closely.

"I'm alone," was all he said.

"Ok, then," he replied, clearly knowing the answer from Jane's tart response. "Information, eh?"

"Erica said you could help our investigation."

"Erica is stubborn and foolish," he replied, turning to out-en his cigar into the ashtray beside him. "But, yes."

The man turned back to Jane and assessed him, squinting his eyes as he took him in.

"You don't look like American police," he finally said. "Not in those clothes."

Jane shrugged. He had gotten that so much that it naturally bounced off and was forgotten immediately. He was glad he didn't look like a cop. Not that looking like one was bad, he just rather keep his own look. People opened up to him more and didn't feel threatened. Jane took in the man in the same manner, his eyes reading the bald man's, his mind turning over what he could figure out just by sitting next to him and his brief exchanges with the man.

"You're dying, aren't you?" Jane asked, watching as the man smiled in response. "How long?"

"She said you were different in this way," he replied. He exhaled deeply. "A few months. Not long. How did you know?"

Jane pointed to his bald head. "Your hair is falling out, you're pale and bony, and your belt holes show that you are losing weight at a rapid pace. You were either dying or on a wicked diet."

The man laughed a strangled laugh and nodded. "Very observant."

"What is this information, and how do you know Erica Flynn?"

"Erica is my daughter," he told Jane. "I hadn't seen her in some time."

"So you know she's an escaped convict?"

"I do, yes." He pursed his lips and shook his head. "But I don't hold that against her."

"Why not?" Jane asked, intrigued by his answer.

"You don't turn your back on someone you care about, Mr. Jane," he told him. "No matter what."

Jane had to admire the guy. It was a difficult thing to decide between turning someone in you care about and never seeing them again, or standing behind them in times of trouble. If that were Lisbon, he'd, too, have protected her from the justice of the world.

"So why does she want to leave you and go back to the United States, then?" Jane asked. "Why would she risk it?"

The man looked away from Jane and stared straight ahead. Jane had seen this all too well, before, staring back at him from his bathroom mirror. This man was riddled with guilt and troublesome thoughts. He was putting blame on himself, but Jane couldn't make out why.

"These people you are looking for," he answered after a minute of silence, "are not good people. They sell illegal weapons overseas, using various businesses to front it."

"How does Erica, or you for all that matter, fit into that?"

He sighed and turned to look at Jane once again. He tapped his finger on the back of the bench in a nervous gesture. Jane suspected the cigars he smoked were a calming mechanism, and probably one that lead to his shortened life expectancy. Jane could sense a hesitation in incriminating himself or Erica, but he knew there was no turning back from what he already said.

"She came to Beirut a few months after they said my body was waging its own war against me," he finally replied. "She came and told me that she was in trouble, and she needed help. I let her stay with me. I tried to hide what was happening to me, but...but she saw right through it."

Jane let him pause a moment, unsure of where he was going with this. Had Erica already been in Beirut when she called him to taunt him? Had she already been here when she boasted she was somewhere warm? He didn't know, but he found her running to an old friend or relative for help unlikely. Jane didn't voice this doubt, though. He wanted this man to continue, so he waited until he started to speak again.

"The treatments were expensive," he went on. "I didn't have the money. Erica had some money, she said, so she bought a few shops. She didn't want to risk using her off-shore accounts so soon in case you had found them, so it was the most reasonable solution, she thought."

"Shops? Like businesses?" Jane asked. He knew exactly what was going on, now. "She allowed them to run their operations in her businesses for a percentage of their earnings, didn't she?"

"Ah," he exclaimed. "She was right about you. Handsomely smart. Yes, she did. She used the money from that for my treatments, which were often done and equally expensive."

"So why does she want to abandon you and move back to the United States? Why would she do this just to run back there and step back into freedom?" Jane asked, curious for an answer. He knew Erica was manipulative, but this was just cruel.

"They found a treatment that can prolong my life further," he told Jane, sadness in his voice. "But it is in the States. She isn't abandoning me," he said softly. "She is trying to help me."

"Sorry to hear that," Jane told him. And he meant it. But he had a job to do, too.

"So why doesn't she just end things with these people? Tell them to find another place? Anonymous tips?"

The man shook his head and laughed. "You don't just end things with these people. Erica knows too much! Has seen too much! Tips lead back to her and then what? She becomes front page news."

Jane knew what he meant. They would kill her in a heartbeat if she told them to scram and find somewhere else to deal weapons. But in the pit of his stomach, Jane knew they would kill her anyway if she tried to run, or even if they suspected she was going to run. She had too much information for them to risk anything. People who ran guns didn't care about human life. They cared about money. Anything that hindered that had to go. Erica was manipulative, but that wouldn't be enough to keep her alive. She wanted to be free of her bad business decisions and return to the US without fear of death following her every step of the way, and if she could get a deal in exchange for murdering her husband and escaping justice, well, that was just perfect for her. She also obviously cared deeply for her father to be risking so much. This man didn't know names of people running the weapons. He was there to make sure Erica Flynn would be protected if she cooperated. Her manipulation was channeled by her father.

"There is nothing I can do other than investigate the information," he told the man.

"But you'll keep her_ alive_," he replied to Jane. "You see her differently than most."

"I'll do what I can," Jane replied.

"Good. She'll be in touch with you soon."

He watched the man hobble to his feet, grab the half-smoked cigar and limp his way out of the front doors. Jane sat there for a few moments even after he left, wondering what to do about what he just heard. Not only did they have a weapons smuggling ring to crack, they also had to protect and serve Erica Flynn. Erica Flynn had all the details on who these people were and where they operated. Even years later, Erica was manipulating him. Making him play the hero and reaping the benefits.

_I'm losing my touch_, Jane thought bitterly, standing and walking to the elevator. _So much for this being quick and easy, Abbott._

He had some news to break to Lisbon.

**.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.**

It was dark by the time she heard him come in the room. She opened a sleepy eye and read the bedside clock. It was nearly seven. She had fallen asleep in her clothing and awoke when she heard the handle on the door jiggle. She didn't move. Instead, she remained in the fetal position in which she curled asleep, and waited for him to cross the room to her. The room was dark, but there was a light emanating from the balcony doors and shining enough for him to see her.

"Lisbon?" he called out softly.

She felt him sit on the edge of the bed beside her, and felt his fingers sweep back loose hair from her face. She reached a hand out and found his wrist. Rubbing his warm flesh at his inner wrist, she mumbled a soft, "I'm awake".

"It's late," he told her. She watched his eyes fling to the bedside clock. "Why don't we grab something to eat?"

Lisbon couldn't argue. She was hungry. As much as she wanted him to take her places only he knew the way back from in the bed, she was starting to feel dizzy from not eating. Her hand lightly brushed his warm skin up to his elbow and back down before she felt him stand, her hand falling from him. She could see his shadowed outline as he bent down and she felt herself floating in the air, being lifted off the bed like a bride being carried by her groom on their wedding night. Her arms came up to wind around his neck and she felt his lips find her neck, guiding small butterfly kisses up to her ear.

"I promise to save room for desert," he told her, soliciting a smile he couldn't see. She knew he didn't mean the kind you eat...well, not anything you can digest.

He put her down and she grabbed a long, white dress from her bag as she made her way to the bathroom. She dressed quickly, set her hair in a messy bun and met Jane outside the bathroom. He was wearing his same outfit, but his face was set in a slight frown. She couldn't quite place it, but she knew him enough to know something was bothering him. She didn't press him, though. He saw her and the frown vanished and was replaced by a wicked grin and gleam in his eye.

"You look beautiful," he told her, catching both of her hands in his. "Is this the dress I bought you?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "The coral colored dress was gorgeous, but this one is just as lovely."

"Yes, it is." He smiled at her as he opened the door and they disappeared through it. She didn't know which restaurant he was taking her, because there were several in the area. They passed the lobby and stepped out into the heat of the night, a slight breeze only just cooling them as they stood waiting for a taxi to hail.

"How did it go with that guy you were supposed to meet? Anything useful?" she asked, just remembering. "Did it pan out?"

"I'll tell you over dinner," he told her, waving his hand to alert the cabbie up the road. "It was, uh, interesting..."

She said nothing in reply. Whatever it was, she'd know soon enough. Jane opened the taxi door, and Lisbon slid in first, and he slid in beside her, slamming the door.

"What's the best restaurant around here?" he asked the young driver. "Any recommendations?"

"The Pegasus is good, sir," the cabbie replied. "It's just a few blocks from here."

"Good," Jane told him, handing him a few pounds. "Take us there, please."

They arrived at the Pegasus in a little under ten minutes, and the place looked amazing. There were open areas outside to eat, and the lights hanging above the tables shone brightly, lighting up the tables in an almost hazy glow. There were several water fountains cascading clean water down the walls between tables, and there were light sounds of music and laughter coming from the inside of the establishment. Off to the right of the restaurant, you could see the peaks of the Mediterranean sea with the moon as the backdrop. It was a romantic setting. The cabbie had great recommendations.

"Fancy shmancy," Lisbon commented, taking in the view. "Thank God Abbott is paying."

Jane pulled Lisbon lightly by the hand to a table near the back of the outside patio and pulled her chair out for her before sitting across from her.

"Yeah," he agreed, scanning the menu that was set on his plate. "Thank God for that."

After they decided what they wanted to eat and the waiter came and went, Lisbon waited for Jane to start telling her what happened that afternoon. She sensed hesitation, and that only made her even more curious. Finally, after stalling a few minutes by drinking his lemon water and eating a slice of baguette, he sighed heavily and leaned toward her.

"Turns out," he started, sipping more lemon water before going on, "Erica has kept a dirty little secret."

"What's new?" she blurted out. _Well, it was true!_

"Well," he replied, "She is the one fronting the businesses they are using to run the guns operations."

Lisbon should have been shocked...felt something along those lines, but she didn't. She didn't feel one lick of surprise. Erica Flynn wasn't bringing in the surprise. Lisbon had seen her in person; she saw what she was capable of when she tagged and bagged her husband years ago.

"So why did she call you for help? She's risking a hell of a lot doing that."

The waiter came with their food, and the conversation dwindled, only picking back up after each had eaten half a plate full. Jane shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"The guy I met in the lobby? He claims to be her father," he told her, pushing his plate away from him and looking at Lisbon intently. "He told me that he's dying and that Erica wants to come back to the states so he can have special treatment only the US can offer," he explained. "He told me that Erica is scared to cross these people she got into the business with, and if they knew she was even thinking of leaving and closing up shop, they wouldn't hesitate to kill her."

"What if they knew she was talking to American police about their shipments overseas? How is what she's doing now any safer than her giving us names and places they use and us taking it down?" Lisbon asked, confusion pressing her brows.

"Because if we just go in there, guns blazing, they are going to know someone who had direct knowledge had to narc on them. The only one who knows they work there, according to her father, is Erica."

She stabbed a piece of her fish with her fork and shook her head. It was another goddamn manipulation to cover her from guilt. In order to catch the gun runners, they had to give Erica the deal she wanted, because if they didn't, they would not get any information on where the operations worked. Erica was exchanging information, insider information, for protection and an immunity deal. Lisbon chuckled darkly. This one was intelligent. They were sent here to attempt to close this case, and Abbott would approve whatever got that done.

The only clue they had that the guns even originated from Beirut was Erica's word. She had also provided a description of a cross scratched on the butt of every gun, indicating the group in which the gun came from for when more guns needed to be ordered. She had given enough proof for Abbott to send them here, and now that they were here, Erica was proving just how much didn't change with her. She was still a manipulative bitch who dangled pieces of information in front of them like dogs.

"Too bad we can't extradite her," Lisbon muttered. "At least we could have used that as leverage to stop the mind games."

"These men are dangerous, Lisbon," he told her seriously. "You've seen what their guns are doing back in Austin. They aren't great people."

"Wait," she threw her fork on her plate. "You are actually defending her!"

"No," he told her gently. "I'm not. I am saying that our jobs are to find the truth and protect people. If we have to babysit her personally, then that is what we will do if we can get these guns off the streets. It's not about her, Teresa. It's about the hands those guns find their way into."

She knew he was right, but she couldn't contain the displeasure. At most, she thought they would talk to her, she'd give up the information, and they'd leave. She didn't realize she was more deeply rooted than thought. She was playing a game with Jane, and Jane was falling right into it. She understood what Jane was saying, but the jealousy she could feel burning through her veins now was overpowering her thought process. She was getting to him. Erica Flynn was digging her claws back into Jane with manipulation and control.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" she asked him, picking her fork back up and playing with the design etched on the top of the steel.

"Wait for her to tell us what she needs," he told her. "She is supposed to contact me, but I don't know when. I guess she's going to tell me about her little investments."

Lisbon scoffed and shook her head. "She hasn't changed one bit."

She felt his hand come to still her hand. She looked up at him and could see his gaze questioning her silently. The words he was trying to find were lost for a moment, but he cocked his head to the side and finally decided on what to say.

"I'm sorry, Teresa," he said softly to her. "I know this isn't fun for you, and I know you don't like her, but I promise you that once we close this case, we'll leave here, forget about her, and go back to how things were before all of this."

"I'm not-"

"Are you going to try to lie to me?" he interrupted, chuckling. "I don't blame you for thinking such things. There are things that happened before that concern you," he admitted, "but I don't see anyone but you when I close my eyes at night."

"Am I that transparent?"

"For the most part," he shrugged. "Trust me, Teresa."

_I **do** trust you_, she wanted to tell him. _It's **her** I don't trust_.

"That's-" Lisbon started to say.

She didn't get to finish her sentence because at that moment, there were loud bangs coming from the street. Lisbon knew exactly what they were. Standing up, she looked around and could see a silver car driving down the road, someone hanging out the window in the back as the crack of an AK47 sounded above the floating music from inside.

"Flip the table," she told Jane, watching as people scrambled from the restaurant, running in all directions to get away from the barrage of bullets. "Stay down." Her cop instinct took over, and she knelt as low as she could to the floor.

Jane flipped the table, sending the food, china and tablecloth spilling to the floor as he huddled behind the wooden table. Lisbon didn't have her gun with her, it was back at the hotel in her bag. She knelt beside Jane, who reached a hand out to pull her down beside him. Around them, they could see holes in the tables, the windows and the cars that stood in front of them. There were several more cracks in the distance before the sound became silent once more, only the music softly playing.

"What the hell was that?" Lisbon asked, trembling slightly.

"I don't know," Jane answered, pulling his hand from around her. He felt something wet and sticky on his fingertips, and was horrified when he looked down and saw blood. "Lisbon..."

She turned, and he could see blood soaking through her white dress, causing a stain the size of his fist. She followed his gaze and pulled the white dress away from her skin.

"You're bleeding."

* * *

><p><strong>DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Mentalist, its actors or anything else.<strong>


	2. Brittle, It Shakes

**Chapter Two**

**Brittle, It Shakes**

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

It was late morning when he carried her into the room and laid her softly on the bed, taking care to keep her on her right side, then covered her up with the lace duvet and leaned down to kiss her cheek and move a stray piece of hair from her cheek before setting the bottles of medication on the nightstand beside the bed and sitting on the chair that he moved closer from its place by the window. She was hazily medicated with morphine, and had drifted in and out of sleep for hours, not even waking while an escort brought him back to the hotel by a police patrol car with the sirens blaring. Though he could have used a wheelchair to transport her to the room, he knew if she had a say in the matter, she would not give up her independence.

He was just glad he was back in the hotel room. He hated hospitals. He hated the smell of antiseptic and death, and the things that happened behind the closed doors of rooms in them. He had been so grateful when they told him that they would release her into his custody, but she would be in pain for some time and she would need to watch herself so she didn't pop her stitches. They had given him some morphine pills for the pain and some bandages and antibacterial ointment for the wound, which they said needed changing every 3 hours. The AK47 bullet had grazed her side, leaving a one inch wound to bleed and burn. She didn't feel the wound at first, the doctors told him, most likely because her adrenaline was pumping. He remembered looking down at the blood on his fingertips and on her white dress and seeing things he never wanted to imagine ever again. Lebanon had a far more superior medical procedure than America, and Lisbon headed off to the nearest hospital and stitched up within forty minutes of it happening. She was hurting once the adrenaline faded away, and so they gave her the morphine while they stitched her up. They told Jane just how lucky she was; bullets the size of AK47's don't usually miss. It was because he pulled her down beside him that she was just grazed. Had he not pulled her down, she would have...

"Patrick?" Lisbon whispered softly, her eyes firmly closed.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by his name. It was just a soft murmur, really.

"I'm here," he told her, though he knew she was sleeping in a hazy, drug-induced state. "I'm not leaving."

She mumbled a bit of more incoherence and slipped back off into silent sleep. Jane's thoughts turned to what happened. Surely, this was no coincidence. They didn't just decide to open fire on the restaurant for the shear hell of it. He hadn't gotten a close look at the vehicle, but he was sure those guns were the same kind finding their way overseas to Austin. Basically, there wasn't a lot he could tell the police at the scene, only that he heard shots and ducked for cover. Jane increasingly became agitated about Lisbon, who was his priority, and was cautiously and hastily loaded into the ambulance when he told the officers what he knew. He probably missed telling them something, but he didn't give a shit, if honesty was a policy. The question running through his fragmented brain, now, was how did they know who they were and why did they target them so openly? Smart criminals did things shaded by secrecy, but this was bold. How did they know that he and Lisbon were there to investigate? This was no coincidence, this was a message. From who and why?

Jane tapped his finger on his knee as he pondered about his next move, and then reached into his ripped jacket pocket for his phone. He quickly dialed the number he wanted and waited for the line to pick up on the other end.

"Wylie?" Jane asked, keeping his voice low as to not disturb Lisbon. "Do you have a second?"

He waited for a reply before going on. It was late at night in America, but Wylie could be counted on. He had assured Jane before the left that if he needed anything, he was to call. Despite the late hour, Wylie sounded wide awake and concerned.

"She's fine," he told him. Apprised of what happened, Abbott must have told the others, as well. "Listen, can you do a trace on my phone? A reverse phone trace?"

He was going to get answers. He wasn't playing around anymore. This wasn't about protecting just Erica Flynn, this was about protecting Lisbon. The sooner they closed this case, the sooner he could get her out of here. Although, if she was going to play these games, he would make sure he was a solid, worthy opponent. She had out-smarted him once, she would not do so again.

"Alright, well, can you do it on the last call I received before?" He asked. "Okay. Call me back when you have something."

Jane put his phone back in his pocket just as Lisbon's eyes fluttered open and she cried out in pain when she tried to turn on to her back by sitting up a little. The morphine was wearing off, and the pain was creeping back in intensity. He got off the chair and knelt beside the bed, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder.

"Teresa," he whispered, "it's okay. You're back at the hotel."

She looked around the room, first in alarm, and then in familiarity, swinging her glassy eyes back to Jane. She licked her lips, which were dry (side effect of the morphine). She must have felt a twinge of pain at her side because she used her hands to lift herself into a half sitting recline on the bed and winced in agony.

"I'm so thirsty," she said through a cracked voice. The fogginess of her hours of sleep peeping through her cracks, making her sound childlike.

His hand came up to caress her cheek with his knuckles.

"I'll get you some water."

He got up and went to the bathroom, filling up a plastic cup from the tap and returning to her. He gave her the cup of water and turned to retrieve two pills from the bottle he had placed on the nightstand earlier.

"No," she told him, watching as he shook the pills into his hand. Her voice sounded slurred and slow.

"They're for the pain, Teresa," he explained. "You have to take them."

She shook her head and licked her lips again. "They make me feel funny, Jane. I can handle the pain."

As if to prove the point, she tried to hide the grimace creeping across her face as she lifted herself a little more, so her back touched the headboard. He sighed, placed the pills back in the bottle and turned to her once more. She drank the rest of the water in one gulp, and gave him the cup back.

"Any ideas on what happened?" she asked, sighing as the water hydrated her lips. "It wasn't random, was it?"

He reached over and pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down. Running his hand through his curls, he shook his head and sighed deeply. She was stubborn by not taking the medication, and he had half a mind to tell her nothing she wanted to know. Looking at her now, he couldn't do it to her. She was so strong and brave and it's one of the reasons he fell in love with her. She was so much stronger than he. Besides, Lisbon wasn't stupid. She could figure out exactly what he did: this wasn't a random act of violence.

"No," he said finally. "I think it was a message to us."

"Message received," Lisbon managed darkly, her words still a little slurred. "Where do we go from here?"

He laughed at her and shook his head. Always willing to dive right in. He remembered when she had gotten shot in the shoulder by Craig O'Laughlin, and left the hospital the same afternoon to come see him in jail. Lisbon wasn't one to sit out, and he knew he couldn't stop her from it. He didn't want her hurting herself further, either, so instead of answering, he shifted the topic of conversation.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, reaching out to glide his fingers over her sweaty hair. "Other than the pain?"

"It burns," she admitted, shifting a bit. "The stitches are making it itch."

"I'm ... I'm so thankful you're okay," he murmured. "You scared me back there."

She looked at him and trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. He watched her eyes as they reflected something he couldn't quite place, and then felt her hand take hold of his bicep. She gave it a squeeze, and Jane moved from the chair in a swift motion to sit on the edge of the bed, his upper half looming over her like a shadow.

"You're trying to distract me from my earlier question," Lisbon told him, her face inches from his. "Is this part of the process?"

"What? This?" He came closer to her face, his breath moving her eyelashes.

"Yes. That."

"I promise to tell you what I am going to do if you promise me you'll take it easy," he compromised. "I mean it. You have to heal."

She didn't answer, but he could see the want in her face. He felt it, too, but it would have to wait. It was too soon to test the stitches. He looked at the clock on the bedside table and reached for the bandages and ointment. It wasn't exactly the sexiest thing he could be doing for her, but touching was something they both wanted and needed. This was the safest they could do for the present moment.

"What are you doing?"

"Changing your dressing for that," he said, pointing to the side her wound was on.

He reached and pulled down the duvet from her body, placing it in a line at her knees. She was wearing nothing but a long, wraparound hospital gown they had given her at the hospital. They had thrown away her dress and panties when they cut them off her to get to the wound. She was sweating, but she was not hot; another side effect from the morphine: cold sweats. Jane reached down and pulled up the gown on one side. His fingers grazed the flesh at her hip bone, causing her to shiver as he felt for the edge of the bandage exposed over her skin. He pulled lightly on it, but it still held like glue, causing Lisbon to cry out in pain as it stuck to her already slick skin..

"I know," he soothed. "I'm sorry."

He finally managed to pull the bandage off and open a package of ointment. He took his fingertip, spread it on and put a fresh, clean bandage on the area. His fingers lingered at her inner thigh for a moment, and he could feel her eyes on him. He looked up at her and shook his head.

"No," he said flatly. "We can't. You can't pop the stitches, Teresa. I said you have to take it easy, and that includes what you are thinking about, right now." He reached over to discard the bandage and ointment wrappers on the bedside table. "Not to mention you're grimacing now because of the pain, and you refused the medication to ease it."

She didn't say anything, but he could feel her disappointment. They'd have to make this up later. Besides, he had things to do, starting with explaining to Lisbon exactly what he planned on doing to get this case wrapped up as soon as possible, and getting the hell out of here.

"I've requested a trace back on the call I got from her this afternoon," he told her, pulling her gown back down and placing the covers back up to her waist. "Wylie is working on it."

"Then what?" She asked, watching as he rose and took the cup back to the bathroom. "We follow the trace?"

"_I_ follow the trace, yes," he said, emphasizing that he alone would be doing the following.

She wouldn't be able to walk very well with so many stitches in her side. Besides, he didn't want her hurt again. God only knew what kind of people Erica hung out with. Her business dealings were not a good indicator of someone who makes nice friends and good choices for acquaintances. It would be far less dangerous if she were to stay behind, even if she didn't like it. Of course, she wouldn't. He could already feel an argument coming.

"I am going with you," she told him, looking at him as he shoved the wrappers off the bedside table and into the waste can next to it. "I don't want cooped up here in this room, Jane."

What a surprise, Jane thought.

"Teresa, you can't go to places that could be dangerous with a big gash taken out of your side," he explained. "We don't know what kind of place she's in when and if he can trace her. It's simply too risky. What if we have to run?"

"You're forgetting that you are not a cop, Jane," she told him matter-of-factually. "You are a consultant. I am the cop, here," she twirled her finger between them. "Besides, this time, I am taking my goddamn gun."

She had him handcuffed and he knew it. She was right, of course. He couldn't just go somewhere to look for a known fugitive who was in some really bad investments without a trained professional. He could only run or hide to get away from a situation. He hated himself for refusing the help of Cho and Fischer, whom Abbott had offered him. He had said no because he wanted some private time with Lisbon. It was backfiring on him. No fault of Lisbon's, but she was hurt and he wasn't even sure she could walk. He guessed, however, that she would put on a brave face and fight through it. He had no choice. He had to let her come along if he ever wanted to get her the hell away from here and back to the safety of Austin's FBI headquarters.

"For the record," he told her, sitting down on the chair and leaning back, his hand folding over his chin, "this isn't my first option."

"It's the only one you have," she told him, a smile curling her lips. The pain wouldn't allow the smile to reach her ears.

He didn't answer. She already knew she had him on a short leash, so there was no real reason to argue further. Exhausted, he must have fallen asleep, because the sound of Lisbon coaxing him awake a few hours later made him sit bolt upright in a panic. Lisbon apologized for startling him, but asked him to help her. She wanted to get out of the hospital gown she was in, so Jane fetched her clothes from her bag, and helped her from the bed. She didn't need much help with dressing herself, though. She couldn't take a shower yet, for risk of irritating the wound. Instead, she washed herself with a wet washcloth from the bathroom that Jane gave her. She got her jeans on herself, careful not to touch her side with her hands, and put on a white T-shirt that hung down to her mid-drift, showing just a peek of white bandage underneath. She did well standing, and if she was in pain when she walked around the room to retrieve her socks and boots, she didn't show it. She hobbled just slightly on her feet; the kind that made her shuffle her feet every few steps.

After they ordered room service and had lunch (Lisbon hadn't eaten for hours, and was getting dizzy), Jane planned to call Wylie back to see if he had gotten anything yet. Turned out that he didn't need to. As the busboy came and retrieved their empty trays, his phone went off.

"Wylie," he answered, watching the busboy close the door behind him, shrouding them in privacy. "Did you get anything?"

Jane reached over to the desk and brought the notepad with the hotel's name on it in front of him, reaching for a cup filled with pens and extracting one.

"Uh huh," he said, jotting down an address. "She's there now? Good. Thanks, Wylie."

He hung up his phone and placed it back in his pocket. Ripping the paper off the notepad, he handed it to Lisbon to look at.

"What kind of place is it? Did Wylie say?" Lisbon asked, handing him the paper back and reaching over to her bag on the bed to retrieve her holster with her Glock securely inside. She put the holster on, but placed it on the other side so it wouldn't rub against her sore wound.

"Some kind of resort," Jane told her. "He couldn't give us the exact location of her phone, but he said it was pinging from inside somewhere. He said it's still giving off a signal from there."

"Okay," she said. "Let's go."

Jane sighed as she got off the bed and headed for the door.

"Yeah. Let's go."

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

They stood, looking up from the sidewalk below a long, stone walkway to the front doors of the building. The resort was one of the biggest Jane and Lisbon had ever seen. Its place stood in what Americans would call the rich part of town. The resort, standing tall above everything else around it, was a white brick and glass façade of the more fortunate. Jane looked at it and decided that he didn't like it. Too many people with too much money doing too little, buying exotic drinks, getting body massages and eating things he couldn't even pronounce. It made him think of his past as a fake psychic, and he disdained that kind of lifestyle, now.

"Looks about right," Lisbon commented, meaning the type of places Erica seemed attracted to.

He couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped from him. She had a point. He turned to her and pointed to the double doors that let you gain access to the overpriced commodities inside.

"Ladies first," he told her. "You still feel okay?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes at him but started down the walkway. He had only asked her if she was okay at least ten times. He couldn't help it. The fact she was walking without much of a limp surprised him. He followed behind her and saw her shake her head.

"For the umpteenth time, yes," she told him.

They walked into the building and looked around. Couches, expensive rugs and exotic plants filled the grand lobby. There was a big wooden desk in the center of the lobby that was conveniently labeled **INFORMATION AND ADMISSIONS**, but Jane knew they wouldn't be using it.

"Any idea where to go?" Lisbon asked him, her eyes scanning the lobby.

Along either side of the lobby, there were glass walls from floor to ceiling, with entrances and exits in the form of sliding frosted doors. One led to the bar and lounge area, and the other led outside to a pool area, where most people congregated. If he had to bet money, he would bet that the illustrious and impeccably tan Erica Flynn was soaking up sunlight next to crystal clear water and not in a stuffy, smoke-filled bar, or listening to the bad music coming from the lounge.

"If I was a betting man, I would say that she would be more than likely outside near water," he told Lisbon, pointing to the side leading out that way. "She's a devil with a tan hide."

Lisbon didn't answer as she followed him toward the entrance to the outside area. Now was not the time to have thoughts about Jane thinking about Erica Flynn's tan skin. Besides, he was right. Pretty Erica never missed an opportunity to show off her assets, even if it meant sitting in a two piece by the pool.

They made their way outside and glanced around at the people walking to and fro. They stuck out immensely with their clothes, and people were staring at them as if they were from another planet. After years of busting into places they didn't fit in, they didn't even seem to notice it anymore. _Not everyone can rock out the board shorts and flip-flops_, Lisbon thought humorously.

"See her yet?" Lisbon asked, shielding her eyes from the unforgiving sun.

Jane scanned the lounge chairs that surrounded the pool. He swung his gaze the entire way around until he saw the man he had talked to in the lobby. There he was, sitting back in one of the loungers, and next to him was the person they were looking for, her eyes closed, seemingly trying to turn her skin from tan to burnt toast.

"There," he replied, not bothering to point her out, but instead walking toward the pair.

Jane and Lisbon (who had a bit of difficulty wading through the people with her wound) walked up pair of them. The man Jane had talked to in the lobby of the Phoenicia didn't look overly shocked to see them. Instead, he looked up at Jane and waved three fingers in a half-assed greeting.

"Don't be rude," Erica told him, not moving or even opening her eyes that he could see from under the shades she wore. "Say hello, baba."

Lisbon could see that Erica Flynn hadn't changed much in the years after her escape. She still had the same tanned skin (that she was trying to make darker in this heat), her soft baby-doll voice was the same, though there was an edge to it now. The only real change that she could see was that her hair was no longer pixie cut; it was longer and feathered behind her ears and shoulders. She was still fairly thin, and she showed that off with a two-piece swim suit. She was pretty sure that the manipulation hadn't changed, either.

"You don't look surprised we're here," Lisbon told her, her voice thin and low.

"You don't look surprised to see me, either," she replied back, lifting her hand to remove the shades from her face and opening her eyes. "As a matter of fact, I figured you'd find me sooner or later. I didn't exactly make it _hard_ for you."

"No more games," Lisbon told her, watching as Erica's eyes slid to Jane. "Give us the information already so we can get the hell out of here, and you can go back to your life back in the states."

Erica looked back and Lisbon and smiled. Lisbon hated the smile. Not because it mocked her or showed nonchalance, but because that was the smile only a manipulating criminal could pull off. It was smooth and easy. And, if Lisbon was being honest, she didn't like the way her eyes fell to Jane as if she were seeing an old lover. It bothered her, and she sensed the other woman could tell.

"I'm not oblivious to how cops work, Agent," she told her, sitting up and reaching for a towel to wrap herself in. "I will help you only when I know I am safe. My freedom for the information you seek."

"We can hand you over to the Lebanese police now, and tell them you are fronting guns for cash," Jane interjected, his eyes shifting from the man to Erica.

"Proof," Erica told him, standing and stretching her legs. "I will tell them nothing, and you will have no proof."

"Then your business partners will get wind about it," Jane told her. "Do you think they would be happy to know you could squeal about it? Think they would take kindly to this? You wouldn't last a day after that."

"The deal is," Erica said, her voice rising in spite of herself, "that you keep me safe and I give you the information on exactly what I own and where I do my business."

"How about you give us the information, and we do our best not to shoot you ourselves," Lisbon said, irritated.

"Did you know that your friends paid us a visit last night?" Jane asked, reaching over to pull up Lisbon's shirt and revealing the bloodstained bandage underneath. "AK47 graze."

Erica looked horrified. Lisbon couldn't tell if the look was genuine, her being a manipulator and all...

"So excuse her for being touchy," Jane said, pointing at Lisbon. "Now, give us what you have, or we will turn you over to the Lebanon police, and you will have to keep your own self safe, not to mention baba, over here, doesn't live past summer."

"Come with me, Agent," she told Lisbon, walking slightly ahead. She looked back when Lisbon didn't move. "Just over to the pool bar."

Lisbon looked over toward where Erica was walking and could see a curved granite bar stuck to the right of the of the pool at the end of the wide space. There were n't many people there, the reason Erica chose it. She turned to look at Jane, who nodded his head.

"Go ahead," he told her. "I'll keep Ole baba, here, company."

She watched Jane sit down in the lounge beside the man, and then turned back to Erica. She didn't trust her. She didn't even know why she was now walking with her to the pool bar. But if this got some stuff out of her, she was willing to do it. Besides, Lisbon was starting to regret not taking the morphine pills. The pain was starting to intensify, and her side was becoming sore and sweaty, and she could feel the stitches itching under the cloth of her bandage. She needed to sit down and cool off.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you last night," Erica told her, nearing the bar's counter. "But I don't know anything about it."

"How did they know we were there? It wasn't some random drive-by. They were there because we were there," Lisbon told her, dismissing her excuse. "You are in with these people, so you have to know something."

"I don't keep track of what they do," she explained. "I simply allow them the cover of my businesses. If they did anything last night, it was without my knowledge."

"I don't believe you," Lisbon told her flatly.

"That isn't a surprise, Agent Lisbon."

"With your record, of course not," Lisbon jabbed, walking up a few concrete steps to the open bar. "Aren't you afraid they figured out you're going to stab them in the back?"

"Not particularly," Erica replied. "They don't think I would implicate myself, and they know where to find me. They have leverage," she answered, shrugging. "Or so they think. They would have taken care of me before now."

"Your luck in life makes me jealous," Lisbon said without humor.

"I heard what happened to Jane," Erica told her, changing the subject. "Him killing Thomas McAllister? It was very surprising to know he was given immunity."

"Let me guess," Lisbon rolled her eyes. " That is how you came up with this idea? By reading into Jane's situation? Clever."

"Did it change him?" she asked abruptly. "He seems different. Not tense and crass like before."

Lisbon paused, unsure whether to answer her or not. Deciding it wasn't that big of a deal, she replied.

"It changed him like it would anyone else. He had his freedom, but he wasn't where he thought he would be. Did murdering your own husband in cold blood change you?"

There was a pause from Erica, and then:

"Tell me something. How long?" Erica asked as they sat down at the bar, taking the farthest seats from anyone sitting at the bar.

"How long for what?" Lisbon asked.

"Have you and Patrick been a couple?" Erica asked, waving for the bartender to come take her order. "Anything for you?"

"Iced tea," Lisbon told the bartender. "How did you know?" She turned back to Erica, who ordered and waved the bartender away.

"You forget that I ran a matchmaking service in my younger days," she mused. "I can see it. I saw it even then, when you were just his boss. I can see it now because of the way he looks at you. This is no doubt the reason he seems so carefree, no?"

Lisbon snorted. She wasn't in love with Jane back then. Was she? Well, it didn't matter, because Erica was a liar. And her skills at reading people were just as good as Jane's. When the bartender dropped off their drinks, Lisbon took a long sip of her tea and watched as Erica scrutinized her. She didn't like it. Or maybe it was just she didn't like the woman, herself.

"I'd love to chat about my personal life, but I need the information, Erica," she finally said, unable to stand the intense gaze any longer. "The sooner we get this case closed, the sooner the streets are safe again."

"And he said he didn't believe in true love..." Erica paused. Then: "You don't like me because you think my interest is in Patrick."

"Isn't it?" Lisbon blurted out, unable to stop herself. "You have ... history."

"Interesting that you think so."

Lisbon said nothing. Awkward silence suffocated around them; it stiffened the air like a grip. Erica sipped her drink, ate the cherry out of it, and then pursed her lips. Lisbon remembered the way she had done so in her interrogation, so sure of herself and everything she had said. Lisbon had stared at the best liars from across an interrogation table, and had even looked a few in the eye during sentencing, but she saw nothing but cold, hard cynicism. She suspected a lot of narcissism, too. Equally important to Erica's make-up.

"You know," Erica finally broke the silence. "He sabotaged his need for love and affection because he hated to have someone get close to him just to have them ripped away from him. Much like a bandage," she said. "When I talked with him before participating in my matchmaking study, he was very ... apprehensive. He was very sad and lonely."

Lisbon felt that Erica couldn't help but bring up how Jane had participated in her matchmaking process. She was trying to sugarcoat.

"You're stalling," Lisbon told her, sipping the last of her tea and pushing the empty glass away. "Is there a reason for this history lesson?"

"Let me finish what I have to say, and then you can have your precious information," she whined. "He was apprehensive because he was feeling guilty. He was feeling something, and he wouldn't let it free. He pushed it down."

"I'm not sure I follow..."

"He described his perfect woman to me, something I didn't record as part of the process," she went on. "It was strictly for compatibility logs. We went over the physical likes and dislikes, personality. The things he described to me didn't catch my attention until afterward. I thought he was describing his wife, but he was describing you. He wanted someone ambitious, that cared about him even knowing how damaged he was."

Lisbon shook her head and gave her a look of utter confusion. Why was she telling her this? Why now? Stalling tactic? How and why the hell did the subject turn to this? Lisbon certainly was not going to tell her that she had seen this video Jane made, the one that described his wife, or so she thought. She hadn't even told Jane that she saw it. She had left the laptop there, and Jane had given it back to her a day later, the DVD gone from the drive, none-the-wiser that she had seen it.

"I am telling you this because I have no real interest in Patrick Jane," she said, almost as if she could read the questions in Lisbon's mind. "If that is the reason you don't trust me, you can save yourself the trouble."

Lisbon looked back toward Jane and Erica's father, who was intently talking. No doubt that Jane was trying to dig information up from him, just as Lisbon was Erica. Erica Flynn, however, was making Lisbon remember old memories.

"I don't trust you because you are a manipulating leech, who murdered her husband and escaped to a foreign country when you knew you'd been had."

"Well, you hate me for this "history", as you called it. History is a term you use for something done over a long period, Agent Lisbon. What happened those years ago was just a convenience for me. It was something to use while I planned my next move...a distraction. The kiss we shared served as such."

Lisbon could feel her face contort in shock. Kiss? They had kissed? This was new information to her. She hadn't guessed that they shared something she considered so intimate. She felt sick. Jane hadn't told her about this, and she guessed that, then, it wasn't her right to know. She still felt betrayed and angry that this is how she had to find out. She couldn't speak. She could only look at her with a frown, willing herself not to let Erica see how much that affected her.

"Henceforth, I'm not the same person I was then," she went on, watching as the bartender came to take their empty glasses away. "Besides, we will all be working together. I think that calls for civil interaction, Agent Lisbon."

"Being civil isn't in my job description," Lisbon ground out of her teeth, tears stinging the back of her eyes.

Lisbon could see a small smile unfurl at the corners of the woman's mouth. Erica had no doubt figured out that this little detail had never seen the light of day before now. She was relishing the shock and stoic expression that still clung to Lisbon's face.

Erica laughed. "Fair enough."

"Just tell me what I need to know," Lisbon told her irritably.

Lisbon wanted to stop talking about this with her. She still didn't exactly believe that, faced with a chance, Erica would do whatever she had to do to manipulate Jane, and that included throwing herself at him. Erica Flynn could not be trusted, not even when she said things that made Lisbon's heart pitter-patter. Besides, she still kissed him, and that was something Lisbon couldn't get passed without effort for a while. Erica Flynn loved to say things that made you feel better, but she would snatch them away at the first sign it could be used to her advantage. But she had landed a crushing blow during her sugar-coating. No. Lisbon had to steer this conversation back. Knowing that Jane might have been in love with her so early in their partnership had made her light up on the inside, but that quickly dimmed with the revelation that Erica had her lips on Jane, and Jane had also had his lips on hers. Even more so, was the fact Jane had not mentioned this before. Could she actually get passed this bit of news? Lisbon sure hoped so.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

He saw Lisbon glance over toward them, her face telling him something he already knew. He sighed and turned back to the man, who had yet to tell Jane his name. He sensed a slight jealousy from Lisbon, had done so back when Erica Flynn had first come into their lives. A natural reaction, he supposed. Another reason for him to get her out of here. Insecurities didn't suit Lisbon. She was independent and confident, and usually shrugged off such absurdities. But Erica drummed up old feelings in her, he suspected. Erica Flynn loved to toy with people, too. That he knew for sure. He was trying to reassure Lisbon, and he thought he was doing okay, but he wasn't sure.

"Do you know anything about whom she's fronting for?" Jane asked, pulling off his jacket and sitting it across his lap.

The mid-afternoon sun was unforgiving, and he was baking in the material of his suit. He undid his cuff buttons of his cotton shirt and rolled up his sleeves. The man shook his head and shrugged a small shrug. Jane could see that he once again had a cigar lit beside him, the smoke flowing away from them.

"I don't know anything," he told Jane. "Just what I told you."

"She's told you nothing?"

"No," he countered. "I only know that they come by to drop off her share of the money. I know nothing else."

"They come to her? Why?"

"Ask her," he said, nodding his head toward the general direction she walked away from him in. "My guess is because they don't want her around to see much. If you are psychic, you're very terrible at it."

"There is no such thing as psychics. She allows them to do whatever they want?"

"Pretty much," he told Jane, leaning over and putting the cigar in his mouth. "She lets them have the free rein of her shops."

"And you don't know what shops she owns?" Jane asked, skeptical.

"No. She never said, and I didn't ask."

"So, you've seen what they look like, then?"

Jane glanced once more at the other end of the pool at Lisbon and Erica, then back at the man. He hoped Lisbon was getting better information than he was. He watched as the man screwed up his face in concentration, the circles under his eyes puffing out like two marshmallows. Finally, he looked at Jane and nodded his head slightly.

"There was something," he told him, "that I remember. But it wasn't what they were wearing."

Jane waited for him to continue. When he didn't, Jane prodded.

"And?"

"They got out of a white car," he told Jane, flicking off the ash from the cigar. "I didn't see all of it, just the white color of it as he scooted away."

"No details?"

"No."

Some information he had. Well, it would have to suffice. Maybe they could match the car later, when they actually had something to match it with. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his sweaty curls. This wasn't the way he thought this would go. Even when he thought he had the upper hand, it turned out he didn't. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was nearly time to change Lisbon's bandage dressing. He knew she could do it on her own now, but he had to touch her. It was more of a necessity than anything else. Her skin under his fingertips, the way her eyes got big at his touches. He knew he couldn't do what he wanted because of her stitches, but every minute he couldn't touch her was a minute of torture for him. He loved her, the feel of her and the way of her. He just wished she understood that in situations like this.

He learned his lesson when he almost lost her to another man. He would do nothing, nothing at all, to ever hurt her again. He would be open and honest and the person she got off that plane for. He would always remember the tears she cried as she sat there listening to him pour his heart out to her. He knew he had hurt her by being dishonest, but he knew there were tears of relief in there, too. He would always tell Teresa Lisbon the truth if she asked, even if he knew she wouldn't like the answer.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope this was enjoyable. Things get very interesting from here. Thank you for the reviews. I read them all, and appreciate them.<strong>

**Baba, from this chapter, is loosely translated to "Father" in Arabic.**

**(I do not own anything but my imagination, including Mentalist)**


	3. Bitter Pills

**Chapter Three**

**Bitter Pills **

**(Warning: Sexual Situations! _Hard_ M!****)_  
><em>**

**.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.**

They got back to the hotel a little while later. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow into their room from the window. The ride back had been silent and swirling in unmentioned thoughts. A few times, Jane had glanced over to see Lisbon look at him, only to turn her head quickly when she saw him staring at her. He had asked her once if her pain was back (because she was so silent), and she shook her head, but did not speak.

"You didn't say if you got anything out of Erica," he said, taking her hand and helping her to sit on the edge of the bed.

He let go of her hand and reached over to the table for a clean bandage and some ointment.

"Nothing useful," she told him. "She won't give us anything until she has her deal, and signed the contract."

"Lie back, Teresa," he told her, taking off and throwing her holster on the chair next to the bed and pushing gently on her shoulder so her body fell back on the bed. "Surprise, surprise."

He bent down over her and set the bandage and ointment aside, bringing his fingers up to unbutton her jeans with his fingers and undoing the zipper. Lisbon didn't say anything further, she just put her hands over her ribs and watched him look at her as he rolled her waist hem down past the bloodied old bandage. He pulled gently, but the bandage pulled away easily from the sweat of her body.

"The skin around the stitches are a bit red," he noted, opening the packet of ointment and brushing some delicately on her wound. "Are you sure you are not in pain?"

He attached a clean bandage to her skin, allowing his fingers to linger. When she didn't react to that touch, he stood, turned to throw away the papers and packet in the waste can and turned back to her. She never ignored his fingertips gliding over her skin before. He knew for sure something was wrong, then. He wouldn't allow her to do this. Sulking in silence; he wouldn't let her shut him out like this. He didn't know exactly what was wrong, but he couldn't fix it if he didn't know what to fix in the first place.

"What's wrong, Teresa?" he asked her softly. "What did I do?"

He held up his hands palm-side facing the ceiling and sighed. He crossed them after a moment and waited for her reply.

She sat up and placed her hands above her knees, trapping her lip in her teeth. Jane knew that something was bothering her for sure, then. It was a calming mechanism that she liked to use. Jane stood still, his face trying to read her features.

"Why didn't you tell me about how you kissed her?" Lisbon whispered, her eyes falling to her hands on her knees. "You knew we were coming here to deal with her … I was coming _with_ you … but you didn't tell me."

Jane sighed heavily and came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He didn't plan on lying to her, but neither did he plan on bringing up old things that he knew she would carry for a long time. He reached up and pulled her chin so she had to look at him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you, Teresa," he apologized. "It was so long ago and didn't mean anything to me, whatsoever. I didn't think it would help anything, you were already apprehensive about coming here."

"It was the first kiss since your wife…" she trailed off.

"Yes, it was," he confirmed. "It shows how much of a mistake it was. I wasn't ready, and Erica knew that. She used the fact to distract me, and it worked."

He wanted her to see the genuine look in his own eyes. He wanted to assure her that what he was saying to her was one-hundred percent the truth. He didn't mind that she asked; he minded that she was so bothered by it. It hurt him to see her hurt. What reflected in her face was betrayal, hurt and a tinge of jealousy. He suspected her silence was more Lisbon trying not to cry than being angry with him. He should have told her when he first found out they'd be interacting with her here in Beirut, and because he didn't, she was hurt. He had promised her he'd be completely open, and yet he let this detail go to the wayside. Perhaps he had wanted to forget it so badly that he thought it would eventually be forgotten. What he felt for her was too overwhelming compared to anything or anyone else. That included Erica.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice merely a whisper now. "I really am. I can't take it back now, but if I could, I would."

Lisbon was silent at first, taking in his sincerity. He could tell that she wasn't entirely satisfied with his apology, but he felt it lessened the hurt in her eyes. He felt her exhale of breath hit his face; a deep, resounding sigh that was either in relief or in sheer disappointment. If it was the latter, he deserved it.

"Please don't be upset, Teresa," he pleaded, taking his hand from her chin and bringing it up to trace the frown lacing her lips. "I don't like seeing you unhappy. I promise you that it was regrettable, and it was so long ago."

"I know," she said slowly, reaching up to grab his wrist with one of her hands. "It's not fair for me to feel this way, but I can't help it. I'm not exactly enthusiastic about it, no matter how long ago it was."

He didn't blame her for feeling this way. Although, he didn't think she needed to know about it before, and even less so when they found out they would be in Beirut, forced to work with her to bring down the gun runners.

"You shouldn't let her get to you like this," Jane told her, dropping his hand from her lips and shaking his head slightly. "She loves seeing you writhe, Teresa."

"She knows how to make me," Lisbon said darkly.

He laughed now. He couldn't help it. Bad-ass, sassy Teresa Lisbon breaking calm at the smallest bit of old news. Erica knew exactly what she was doing. Jane could see it, too. Lisbon, at the moment, seemed blinded by irresolution and her first bought of another woman's ability to find the smallest of insecurities within her.

"It's not funny," she told him, but there was a slight hint of humor.

"I don't want you to ever feel insecure," he told her, serious now. "That's really what this is about."

"I'm not—" she started. Her hand fell from his wrist and slid back into her lap.

"Yes, you are," Jane interrupted her, standing, walking a few feet away and turning back to her. "And that's normal! It _is_!"

She turned her head away from him, knowing he had caught on to her twinge of jealousy and insecurity that plagued her. He could tell she felt embarrassed at her actions; something she knew she was bad at hiding from him.

"What I told you before is the absolute truth," he promised her, watching as her gaze fell back to him. "No more lying, tricking, manipulating … whatever else it is that I have done wrong with you."

She rose, wincing just a little, and stepped forward so that they were mere inches apart from each other. He didn't reach out to touch her in fear that she didn't want him to.

"I didn't even believe I could love again until you became what you are to me."

"…and I believe you," she told him. "I don't trust her, Jane. She's clearly the same kind of person now as she was back then."_  
><em>

"You don't need to trust her, Teresa." His voice was low and rough. "You need to trust me."_  
><em>

"I do," she replied softly. "I don't know why I even brought it up." She shrugged.

He felt it was okay to touch her, so he reached a tentative hand out and took hold of hers, pulling her gently to him, taking care not to rub her wound against his hip. He knew why she brought it up, and he didn't exactly blame her. He just wanted her to understand that he was hers. He felt her small arms wrap around his waist, her head resting against the place where his heart beat only for her.

"You brought it up because it bothered you enough to do so," he told her, his hands wrapping around the small of her back. "It's a normal reaction to fear and jealousy."

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

"It took years for me to stand here with you in love, Teresa," he finally said after a moment. "I wouldn't ruin that. I promise you."

She knew it. She felt silly for feeling betrayed and equally silly for the small piece of jealousy that flowed in her veins. She knew she had no right to know anything about something in the past. It was partly because Erica brought back old memories of Lorelei that she felt her blood pulse at the news. There was a resemblance there that Lisbon could still see burning in the back of her mind. Both manipulated Jane into false senses of control, and used their feminine wanton to lure him into letting himself be opened up emotionally. She hated … no ... _loathed_ it. Both had gotten something physically intimate from Jane first. Consequently, that fueled her insecurity and jealousy. Erica had gotten something from Jane that he couldn't forget, being the first kiss after his wife died while Lisbon had to shut off her feelings for Jane for nearly 5 years because he wasn't ready. It seemed like an unfair trade-off, but she knew she was being irrational. It wasn't Jane's fault. What exactly would she gain from yelling at him, anyway? Would that really make her feel better? She didn't think so. It was her own for being so petty about things that happened when they were merely colleagues, anyway.

"I know you wouldn't," Lisbon replied, lifting her head to look him in the eyes.

"Are we okay?" asked Jane softly.

Without saying a word, she brought one hand up to the nape of his neck. Her fingertips reaching the little tail at the base of his skull and in spite of his best efforts to restrain himself, Jane tugged her tighter to his body, the heat from her radiating to every crevice of his own. His breath sped up as he felt her fingers tether in the small bit of hair at the base of his neck, twisting the blonde curl in her fist. His hands came up from the small of her back to either side of her head, his fingers digging into her hair, the soft tufts jutting out from between his fingers. His eyes darted to her lips, watching her tongue flick out and lick them in an anticipatory reflex. He brought her face inches from his own, her eyes never leaving his. She started to tilt her head and move slightly forward, but Jane took a moment to glance over at the bedside table.

"What is it?" Lisbon murmured as he looked back to her and nodded toward the table.

"I really think you should take the morphine, Teresa," he stressed, his voice raspy with want. "Please."

"I don't—"

"You're going to need it," he growled softly, his eyes watching the realization crop in hers. "Take them."

Jane didn't wait for her answer. He took his hand from the side of her face and reached over, picking up the bottle of pills from the table. With a swift twist of his wrist and fingers, he got the cap off one-handed, turning the bottle over the table and dumping out several pills. He gathered two of them in the palm of his hand.

"Open," he commanded, placing the pill at her lips.

She opened her mouth, allowing Jane to push the pills in. He could see the skin at her neck bobble in a swallow, and he knew she had swallowed them using her saliva. He replaced his hand on the side of her head and smiled at her.

"Thank you," he told her. "The last thing we need is you in a lot of pain later. I'd feel guilty about it."

"You could just take it easy on me," smiled Lisbon devilishly.

"I," he told her, inclining her head, "don't trust myself that easily. I think it's better if we are safer than sorry. I don't like seeing you in pain, Teresa. If we do this, there will be some pain and soreness, no matter how careful we are."

She understood his place. She needed this, and she felt he did, too. They hadn't gotten time like this since they arrived in the country, and the pang for intimacy was coursing through the both of them. Popping her sutures was unlikely at this point, but the pain would undoubtedly surface from the rough movements of their bodies friction. The feeling alone of his hands on her and her body tightly glued to his was enough to outweigh the bad with the good. She could see the flecks of want in his blue eyes, and he could feel the rise of heat in her skin coming through her clothing and mingling with the heat of his own.

He watched her eyes flutter shut as he neared her lips with his own. He was briefly reminded of the TSA holding room back in Florida, where she had done the same thing, closing out everything and only feeling his mouth on hers. He didn't close his eyes this time, instead choosing to take in her face as she waited for the contact. Her lips puckered slightly in anticipation, her head tilting slightly in his hands. At the last possible second, Jane closed his eyes and took in her bottom lip, sucking it into his warm mouth. Lisbon responded fiercely, pressing her mouth hard against his and bringing her hand from his nape to cup his whiskered cheek. Her other hand automatically knotted in the lapel of his suit jacket, leaving no part of her free from his body. It was a searing kiss. It said so much in a little gesture: it said _I need you, I forgive you, I trust you_. It said _everything_ and _nothing_. It said _I'm sorry_.

He broke the kiss suddenly, causing Lisbon to gasp loudly as air rushed back into her lungs. He turned her head so that he could kiss her jaw line and dropped his hands to her waist, careful to avoid her sutured skin. He pushed gently on her waist, making her move backward slowly toward the edge of the bed, his kisses leading to the side of her neck, where he could see the bed approaching in front of him.

Lisbon's knees hit the back of the mattress, and she fell back on top of it as Jane advanced. She scooted up a little (wincing just a bit as she did) so that Jane's knee fell in between her legs as he hovered over her. Her hand was still knotted in his lapel, but her other hand was reaching up for his face again.

"Patience, please, Teresa," he told her, pushing her hand down.

"Patience isn't really my strong suit," replied Lisbon, disentangling her other hand from his jacket.

"I know," he laughed. "Although, in this case, I understand your impatience."

He looked down at her face for a moment, taking in her brunette hair fanned out against the white lace of the duvet, to her eyes staring at him in yearning, and down to her red lips, the bottom of which she trapped in her teeth in a smile.

"You're so beautiful," he told her, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "I'm a lucky man."

Lisbon reached up and tugged his jacket off his shoulders.

"Yes," she agreed. "You _are_ one lucky man."

Jane smiled as he leaned up and removed the jacket completely, shrugging out of it and throwing it aside on top of the white carpeted floor beside the bed. He reached down and discarded his shoes, pulling them from the heels, and threw them with his jacket. His socks were next. He reached down and pulled Lisbon's boots free of her feet, tossing them with his, and then sliding off her socks and letting them drop from his hands. His hands lingered over her feet, sliding up her shapely legs as he ascended.

"Glad you agree," he told her, hovering over her once more with a hand on either side of her head, his fists tangling in the duvet.

Lisbon could feel the tightening erection of him on her outer thigh, his readiness made clear through his thin knit trousers. Her fingers lightly rubbed him, his moan almost primal as he felt the soft strokes. Sensing her fingers on him caused a fevered chill to creep up his spine. He lowered his head to kiss her gently on the lips; a sensation that was like a shock to the system. He could smell her perfume she wore getting stronger in reaction to her body's rising heat.

"The morphine kicks in around forty-five minutes, Teresa," he told her placidly. "It's going to make you hazy. I think we should hurry things a little."

"I'm not objecting," croaked Lisbon softly. "Although, I do recall you asking for patience..."

"Hmm," murmured Jane. "Touché."

Her fingers came up to fumble at his shirt buttons. Jane tugged the shirt out of his pants and watched in silence as her fingers flung over each white button, separating the two halves of material and showing the tanned flesh underneath. When the last button was undone, Lisbon trailed a scorching gaze over the muscles beneath before she pushed open the shirt as if it were a curtain and dug her fingernails lightly into his flesh as she explored it. The soft chest muscles. The rib-cage. The sternum. He growled softly as she pushed the shirt past his shoulders, scraping the skin at his shoulder blades with her nails. The shirt joined the other articles of clothing on the floor a few seconds later. Jane took her mouth in his, a hungry, unforgiving kiss enveloping her. His tongue probed her lips, asking for permission, and being granted it. It was ferocious and demanding. The sweet mixing with the bitter.

He could feel her soft curves under him, her breasts pressed against his masculine lines through her shirt. He needed to control gentleness. He knew that. But it was difficult when he could feel every inch of her against him, flattened to the bed with his heavy body. He left her mouth only when he could no longer hold his breath, gasping as he reached down between them to pull the white cotton separating flesh from flesh. With a gentle tug, Jane pulled the shirt over her head, her arms rising above her head as it slid free of her.

"Lucky, _indeed_," said Jane, his eyes taking in her naked torso.

His fingers raked over the sensitive skin between her breasts before his hands cupped them delicately. Each thumb flicked the rosy nipple, swollen in need, an action that caused a soft groan and arched back for his trouble. His lips found the side of her neck, her face turning into the duvet with a breathless moan. His hands on her rib-cage, he lowered his mouth to her breasts, suckling her as she lurched under him. His tongue traced the buds, sending her hands up to tangle the duvet on either side of her head. She could feel the soft curls of his hair falling against her collarbone, causing goose-flesh to ripple across her body.

"Oh," she croaked. "Wow."

He reached down and grasped the waist hem of her jeans, the button and zipper both already open from his earlier attempt at dressing her wound. His fingers curving under the tense denim and soft cotton of her panties. He slid off her to her right side. He smiled at the accompanying groan as his body left hers.

"Relax," he told her. "You have to lift your hips so I can get these off of you."

"That's easy for you to say," she replied, lifting her hips up for him. "Ouch!"

"Did I hurt you?" he asked automatically. "Is it your stitches?"

"No," she answered. "Your elbow."

Jane looked down and could see his elbow was jabbing her in the breast. Quickly, he lowered his arm to steer clear of her, and pulled on the materials of her clothing until Lisbon could bring her feet up to pull them off completely by herself. He rocked gently back on top of her and smiled down at her.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Your turn," was all she replied.

She went to work on Jane's trousers, unbuttoning them and sliding down the zipper. She had some trouble concentrating because he was rubbing the naked flesh of her hip, drawing and circling with the tips of his fingers. The modulated tone of his breathing in her ear wasn't helping, either. Finally, after blocking out his fingers on her skin, she successfully pulled the pants down, along with his boxers, past his hips, pushing the material with her fingers, and inserting a hand over his butt as she slid them down to his knees before he kicked them off. She could feel his freed bulge and warm sac on her leg. She trapped her lip in her teeth to stifle a moan at the scorching heat of him.

Both, now fully naked, took to exploring each other with their fingers: The hot skin of each's hips, the tight muscles of Jane's chest, the warmth and sensitivity of Lisbon's breasts and stomach. Jane's fingers lingered on the sutures on her side, the roughness of them compared to her soft skin under his fingers. His hands flexed over her inner thighs, spreading her legs out for him. He could already see she was ready for him, but he knew teasing her would drive her over the already thin ledge. He dipped his head past her torso.

"I always admired your legs," he told her, moving his hands up a fraction. "You know, the way they looked in those tight jeans you like to wear."

His fingers flared out, touching the sensitive spot that was waiting for him. She gasped in a breath, exhaling it noisily after a few seconds. He smiled as his other hand came up to lie flat against her belly.

"Jane," murmured Lisbon, feeling his breath on her belly and fingertips caress her. Her hand came down in an automatic reflex to grab his wrist.

He could feel himself getting increasingly rigid, and he knew her morphine would be kicking in soon. He wanted to take his time, but he also knew that doing so would result in Lisbon becoming incoherent and falling asleep midway through everything. He had to hurry it along, much to his vexation.

He spread her thighs wider and his mouth nibbled where soft curls of brown hair began. Lisbon arched her back, her breathing unable to stabilize. Her hand flung from his wrist to the back of his head, pressing his hot, moist breath to her. When he felt she was teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy, he pulled back and turned to kiss the soft skin at her inner thigh.

"Jane!" she mumbled, her voice faltering. "God."

"I'll be there in a minute," he promised. "I do like the comparison, though."

Jane lay a small trail of kisses on her inner thigh, making his way up to her pelvic bone and across her belly. He brought his face up level with hers, his hand back at her hip bone, leaving a small gap between their bodies. He watched her breathing, the erratic nature of it exciting him. Her eyes closed for a moment, before opening suddenly and reaching down between them to grab him. The surprise registered on his face because Lisbon couldn't stop herself from laughing. In a quick, strong gesture, she placed him inside of her.

The velveteen warmth of her combined with the surprise was almost too much. The moist heat of her around him was a welcomed feeling, one he had felt before. The breathless groan she elicited when he finally overcame the small shock and started moving within her only drove him deeper. He was moving within her at a rhythmic pace, careful not to rub against her wound. Her hands came up to curve around his back muscles as her legs swung around his waist and interlocked at the ankles.

"No!" he told her huskily, pulling her hands from his back and pinning them to the mattress with his own. "Let me!"

His mouth came down in a hot fever, taking her lips roughly into his as her strangled moans caught against his lips. He was moving within her fast and hard, the sweat from their bodies mingling together as their skin slid in unison. Her hand got free of his and flew up to the blonde curls, latching on to tufts and pulling softly.

"Ouch," she muttered as he thrust into her hard.

He stopped moving, his hips coming to a complete stop and his fast breathing hitting her in the face. "Are you okay?"

"Stitches pulled," she explained, shaking her hand from his hair down to his muscled butt, pressing him into her. "Keep going."

When he was sure she was alright, he picked his pace back up, pushing into her in quick, short thrusts. Her moans were breathless and loud, soft and hard. They were everything he loved to hear. They told him he was doing it right and most of all, she was being pleasured the way she deserved. He could hear the mattress give tiny squeaks with each thrust, and he was suddenly thankful the bed wasn't old and tired, or it would be very noisy for his neighbors, not that he really gave a damn right about now.

"Jane," she whispered softly. "Jane, please..." she trailed off as he felt her body go stiff underneath him.

He looked down at her eyes fluttering shut, and he knew she was there, her body arching off the bed and against him, her hands falling limp at the small of his back. He watched her as she came, the way her lips curled down and the way her fingers curved between his against the mattress. He pushed in again, feeling her contract around him, her moans becoming incoherent mumbling. He waited for her to come down from her high for a few seconds before pushing in deeper than before, his body shuttering against hers as he came. His breathing ragged, he lay against her trying to keep up control, the sweat from their skin lubricating them in a soft glow. Jane reached up to kiss her, his lips soft now. Her hands were free now, and she laced them behind his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss wasn't urgent, anymore. Instead, it was soft and placid. It was a gentle kiss but said all it needed to say.

Both, still coming down from their high, lie in each others arms. There were no more thoughts of Erica, what she was trying to do, or the kiss she so badly wanted Lisbon to know about. There was nothing there that could break them. They had come through worse in the years after Erica, and they would do so now. The sex wasn't just sex. It was a healing power that gave everything they had to each other, and nothing or no one could take that away. The only sound in the entire room was of them breathing rapidly and the sounds of the sweat slick duvet crinkling under their bodies.

"I love you," Jane told her, reaching over to caress her cheek. "So much."

"I love you, too," she told him, snuggling against his chest. Her words were getting slurred, and he knew the medication was starting to take effect.

"Do you hurt?" he asked her.

"Not anymore," she told him hazily.

He didn't know to what she was referring, but he suspected it wasn't just her stitched skin that didn't hurt. He pulled her into his arms and ran a hand through her damp hair.

"That's good," he whispered, kissing her perspired forehead. "I never want you to hurt."

She didn't answer. He suspected the soft snoring issuing from her was the reason. He smiled, reached beside her and pulled the duvet over them.

"Sleep well, Teresa."

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

It was early in the morning when Jane awoke. He looked at the bedside clock, which read 2:34 A.M. His eyes fell to the naked, sleeping form beside him, snoring softly. He smiled and reached under the cover to stroke her bare hip and backside, her body slightly rocking at the sensation. He knew she was out like a light thanks to the morphine. He was glad he made her take them. She no doubt would exacerbate the soreness already present. His mouth came down to kiss her bare shoulder.

"I love you, Teresa," he whispered in her ear. He gave her cheek a kiss.

Stretching, he uncovered himself and walked through the darkness into the bathroom. He finished his business and was washing his hands when he heard it. A sound. At first, he wasn't exactly sure what it was. Perplexed, he dried his hands and stood at the bathroom doorway, trying to find out the origin of the buzzing he was hearing.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath. "Oh!"

He realized what was making the sound: his cell phone in his jacket pocket. He walked over to his strewn clothing on the floor and fished his phone out of his pocket, which was vibrating monotonously. He looked at the number on the screen and groaned loudly.

"What is it now?" he asked nobody as he unlocked the phone to answer it.

"Erica," he said unkindly. "I see you changed your—"

"I need help," she interrupted swiftly. "You have to help me, Patrick!"

"What's wrong? Break a nail?" he retorted, a small laugh following.

"They're after me!" she replied, her voice low as if trying not to garner attention. "You must come!"

"I can't, Erica," Jane told her, his eyes sliding to the sleeping form in the bed. "There is no way I can help you, now."

As if to pin that point home, Lisbon started whispering in her sleep. Nothing Jane could make out, just incoherence. There was no way he was able to get her up and coherent enough as Erica's savior. He looked back at the clothing on the floor and sighed. There was no way she could help, but he could. He knew he wasn't a cop, but his morals still propelled him.

"I don't know how long I can last here, Patrick."

Jane cursed under his breath and bent down to start pulling on his clothes. He hated what he was about to do, but he seemingly didn't see much of an option. He knew that she couldn't call the Lebanese equivalent of nine-one-one because that would draw attention to her participation in the gun-running scheme. If the gun-runners were found out by no help from Erica, she'd have no deal, and her _baba_ would die in a few months time. He knew her only option was him and Lisbon, but with Lisbon out like a light, there was no way she could do it._  
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"Where are you?" he asked. "I need an exact location."

Jane reached over to the desk and jotted the address down on a piece of paper. He snapped a picture of the address on his phone and left the paper there.

"I'll be there when I can."

He hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He knew he would be paying for it, but he had to. Lisbon was out of it on morphine and wouldn't be of much help. Erica was a manipulating bitch, but he had moral obligations to keep her safe. Whatever she had gotten herself into, he would have to get her out of it alone. There was a chance this was all a big game to her, but that is a risk he had to take. His only lead to getting the guns off the streets in Austin and out of the hands of the kind of people who shot at them at the restaurant was asking for help.

He walked over to the bed and kissed her on the forehead. She tossed slightly, and he could see her cold sweats were back. His fingers brushed against her cheek as she exhaled. She was no doubt in a dream. He hoped it was a good one.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He lifted the cover to wrap it around her bare shoulder and took one last glance at her. He walked to the hotel room door, opened it, and disappeared, leaving a hazy, sleeping Lisbon alone as he went to help Erica Flynn.

He only hoped his good intention didn't get him killed. He hoped there would be someone for her to wake up to. He hoped that he could touch her again. Most of all, he hoped she'd understand.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

He was standing in front of an old, decrepit warehouse. It was very dark and reminded him of many places he had been with Lisbon, none of those pleasant experiences. The windows looked caked in old dirt, making it impossible for him to look inside for a visual. When he got there, there was only silence. At this instant, he could hear a faint rumbling sound coming from inside. Jane kept to the side of the warehouse, making his way to the back to see if he could get inside from a rear door.

"Right out of a horror movie," muttered Jane, walking along car parts scattered on the ground at his feet.

He turned the corner and could make out a white door set against the peeling blue paint of the siding, offsetting it and making it easy to see. His heart was hammering in his chest, the unknown scattering the thumps like a jack hammer. He kept against the wall until he reached the door. Yanking it open as softly as he could, he peered around the door jamb to survey the inside using the street light shining into one of the dirty windows in a filtered haze.

Seeing nothing inside but a car with a blue tarp over it and a bench off to the right-hand side, he stepped into the large room and took a closer look around. Generally speaking, the room looked ordinary; tools spread out on the bench, oil stains on the floor, and car parts spread all over the place. The one exception to this was there was nobody here. There was no sign of Erica or the people she claimed were after her. The rumbling sound from earlier had stopped, but Jane supposed it was just animals sorting through the rubbish on the ground. Jane walked along the car that held a tarp over it, lifting it in curiosity. Under the tarp was a white car. But there was something familiar about this car. Something disturbing. He was still processing this when a sound behind him made him drop the tarp.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked himself.

Whatever the hell was going on, he didn't like it. He knew he shouldn't have jumped at her goddamn command, and here he was, in a strange place, in a foreign country, with no Lisbon as back-up for whatever was about to go down. He was kicking himself internally when the door slammed shut behind him, forcing him to turn around in the darkness. He squinted but couldn't see anything but shadows in front of him. _Definitely reminiscent of a horror movie_, he thought. _This is the part where a guy in a mask mutilates my body._

"Hello?" he called out. "Is someone there?"

There was silence at first but after a moment or two, a familiar voice echoed in the mostly empty room.

"Patrick," she said, moving a few steps forward into the light from the window. "You came."

"Erica..." he trailed off, noticing how clean and safe she looked as he took her in from the illuminated light. He almost sounded relieved it was her instead of the wild things his mind was conjuring up.

_Almost._

She wasn't hurt or sought after. She was nonchalant and calm. Which was good, because the cold, hard barrel of the .45 in her hand aimed right at his chest.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

**Thanks to my beta, Clover81. Much love for your time and effort and commentary!**

**This chapter is dedicated to my tumblr buddies, who put up with me on a daily basis. Thank you.  
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**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Many thanks for all the support. I read _all_ the reviews and cherish them like Jane cherishes tea and Lisbon.**


	4. Amor Omnia Meminit

**Amor Omnia Meminit**

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

She pulled back the covers and sat up, placing her swimming head in her hands. She felt a tightness down at her belly, where the sutures were. She didn't feel pain, just tenderness as if the stitches had pulled roughly as she slept. But she knew she didn't do it in her sleep. Even through the muddiness in her head, she smiled at the memory. She had been upset about Jane kissing Erica, but all that had drifted considerably has he had told her it meant nothing and then made love to her like it didn't. There were sincerity and apologies in his touch; his fingers had shown her how much she didn't have to worry. She felt silly before they made love, and she felt even sillier afterward, too.

It was very dark inside the room, the clock on the table beside her flashing neon-green numbers indicating it was early morning. Lisbon turned her body and reached over to Jane's side of the bed.

"Jane," she said silkily, her words still slightly slurred. "Are you awake?"

If he was awake, she wanted more of him. She wanted more of his fingers scratching across her flesh, more of his mouth on hers. She wanted to feel the security that she was all that mattered to him. She believed him when he told her Erica's kiss was a mistake. She _still_ did. If he was awake, she was sure she wanted to feel his apology for not telling her again.

"Jane?" she asked again when she heard no response.

She reached out her hand and felt his side of the bed with her palm. Feeling that he wasn't there, her eyes darted to the bathroom. The door was open and the light was off, indicating that he wasn't in there. She scurried backward off the bed, kicking articles of clothing in the dark, and reached behind her to turn on the bedside lamp. She panicked when the light illuminated an empty bed. She looked down on the floor where the clothing was strewn, and saw that Jane's clothes and shoes were gone.

"Where is he?" she asked out loud, panic setting in.

Though her head was somewhat pounding with every move, Lisbon reached down and collected her clothing, dressing herself and picking up her cell phone from her jeans pocket. She dialed Jane's cell, her hands shaking. She didn't know if the shaking was from the medication or from the sheer panic flowing through her veins.

"Goddamn it, pick up!" she shouted as the phone just rang and rang on the other end. "You better pick up!"

The phone went to his voice-mail, and she was just about to leave an angry message on his phone when her eye caught the white sheen of a piece of paper on the nightstand. She hung up her phone, pocketed it, and strolled over to the note. She lifted it and read it out loud: "Warehouse on Forgia Road."

In the pit of her tumbling stomach, she knew who had asked him to go there. There wasn't any other reason for him to leave her. She certainly felt hurt and disgusted that he would make her take the pills, make love to her, and then leave her alone with a piece of paper as the only clue to his whereabouts. But mostly the deep pit was because Jane wasn't a cop. Jane wasn't the kind who could defend himself efficiently. Jane had the cleverness and his wits, but he didn't have the right know-how in dangerous situations. She was scared. She didn't care, for the moment, that he left her highly medicated to run off to Erica. She only cared about his safety and getting to him before something awful happened.

"Jane, what have you gotten into?" she cried out. "What has she done now?"

Lisbon reached over and took her gun out of the holster and tucked it in her pants and under her shirt in the back. She reached over, picked up the paper and put it in her pocket. She exited the dimly lit hotel room and reached up to grasp her cross in her hands as she shuffled off to the elevators. She needed a miracle. She didn't need to _think_ she did. She _knew _she did.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Sorry," Erica told Jane, lowering the gun slightly. "I didn't want it to end up this way."

Jane looked at the barrel of the gun, which was now aimed for his stomach, and back up to her face. He put his hands up in a defensive pose and shook his head from side to side. He had tried to answer his phone, but Erica had jabbed the barrel of the gun closer and shook her head. He let the ringing die out before answering her.

"Throw the phone over here," she requested.

Jane fished the phone from his pocket and tossed it across where it landed on the floor at Erica's feet. She picked it up slowly and threw it out the open door behind her without looking away from Jane.

"What is this?" Jane asked, watching as she advanced a few steps toward him. "What do you think you're going to do, Erica? Kill me?"

"I would have thought you were more clever than this, Patrick," she told him, shaking her head. "You've always relied on being the smartest person in the room. Look where that has gotten you."

"I know what's going on, Erica," he told her, stepping forward so that he was inches from the barrel of the gun she was holding. "I've been paying attention far closer than you are giving me credit for."

She shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly and tilted her head slightly at an incline, her chin jutting out in self-pride. Cleverness, once achieved, was something you thought you had over someone until proven otherwise. She had tasted that back in California, and now she was flaunting it expeditiously. Jane watched as her fingers flexed tightly around the trigger as she pointed at his chest again.

"Perhaps," she told him. "But then you are the one standing here with a gun pointed at your chest, Patrick."

His eyes glanced over at the blue tarp that held the familiars underneath it. He flashed back in his mind to the first day he and Teresa had set foot in Beirut. He could now place the white car beneath the vinyl, and could fit nearly everything else together, but it was a little hard to concentrate when a gun was aimed right at his heart.

"You might be surprised," Jane replied, his eyes sliding back to Erica's, holding her intense gaze.

She sighed. "Fine. Surprise me, then."

He wanted to tell her to put the gun down first, but he knew she was too smart to fall for that. He kept his hands up as he walked a few side-steps to the tarp, reaching over without breaking eye contact and pulling it off, throwing the blue to the dirt floor.

"It's the cab that picked us up both from the airport and from the hotel and took us to the restaurant. It's how they knew where we were," he told Erica, his voice lowering. "It's one of the businesses you own, isn't it, Erica?"

"Very perceptive, Patrick," she complimented.

He chuckled darkly. "You made sure they picked us up and set us up to be at that restaurant. You had no intentions of helping us. You run it, and you were going to take all the profits from the gun-running and take off. You had to make sure that there was a distraction while you made off with everything, though."

"I admit," she pursed her lips, "that it wasn't the best idea. But I have to replenish my cash flow and move somewhere sandy and with better climate. Venezuela has no extradition to the United States. Perhaps I can take your lead, Patrick."

"Immunity could have-"

"It would have done _nothing_. They would flip on me and tell the FBI I was running it and I would be charged since the immunity deal was only good for my _information_, not participation. Besides, they can take the deal away at any time before the trials even begin."

"Why incriminate yourself by having us travel here? What kind of sense does it make?"

"I couldn't just _leave_. You know how these kind of people are. They'd kill me as soon as they even suspected I wanted to bail with the money. This way, they think you found us on your _own_, giving me the time I need to make my escape. Again," she breathed. "It took the heat from myself, you could say."

"So, you're just going to run again? What about your father, Erica? Do you even have a conscious?"

He watched her face flicker something he couldn't quite see before changing back to a sly grin. She tilted the gun down to his stomach and sighed.

"I am disappointed, Patrick. I really am. You were so witty back then. I guess being in love with Agent Lisbon changed you in that regard. Pity really."

He realized something then; that the man Erica called her _baba _was just a pawn, his unfortunate circumstances were being used to Erica's advantage. He was _told _to tell Jane about the white car, if asked, knowing it would get the wheels turning in Jane's head. He was being used for her dirty work. Probably was funneling the weapons for transport, even as sick as he was... holding his treatments as enticement for helping her. Erica must have seen the revelation in his face because she curved a smile and shrugged her shoulders.

"That's better, Patrick. I'm a killer," she said. "And he's dying anyway."

"You haven't commented that she isn't with me," Jane pointed out. "Lisbon."

"This would have turned out the same way, Patrick. Besides, I assume my little talk with her sparked some... _controversy_ between you?" Erica smirked, arching a perfect eyebrow.

"You prearranged that, too, I guess," he told her, smirking darkly at her. "You didn't quite do it right, but close enough..."

"I've dealt with insecurities before," she told him. "I've seen the most in-love people tumble when trust is involved. There are things that I see in her that you don't. I'm sorry to have exploited that against you. I do love happy endings, but..."

There was a sound from outside the warehouse. It sounded like water being poured out of a bucket. Instinctually, Jane turned his head to look at where the sound was coming from and took his eye off Erica Flynn. Later, he would look back on this and curse himself for doing so. Erica Flynn turned around and exited the door in which they had both come, slamming it shut. The sound of the clanging door distracted Jane back to where Erica had been, but the sound of a deadbolt clicking told him enough to know that he was getting out of there quickly. Jane was encased in shadows once more as the door cut off the light from the moon. He tried to feel his way to the far wall, but he stumbled over stray car parts and fell to the ground in a heap near the blue tarp he had extracted off the taxi.

"What is that sound?" he said aloud, listening to a faint crackle somewhere in the distance.

It wasn't for a few minutes that Jane placed the sound he was hearing: fire. It was a crackling fire somewhere outside of the building. When Jane shifted his gaze to the dirty paned window above him, he could see the orange lick of flames bursting through the darkness. In one instance, Jane was glad for it. It provided him with a hue of yellows that illuminated the space around him. In the other instance, he could hear the sounds of the fire raging all around the outside, now. The flames licked the dirty panes of the window, burning off the dirt in dry, sooty flakes. Jane lifted himself off the dirty floor and ran as upright as he could to the door Erica had vanished out of, banging on it heavily. He heard her command the person she was with, Jane presumed the man she was using as a pawn. He couldn't make out what they were saying or doing, but he suspected they were planning their next move.

"Let me out!" he shouted, pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth as the smoke and flames started in the cracks of the building, feeding the space inside where he was. "Please! HELP!"

To Jane's horror, nobody answered. He didn't expect anyone to help, but he had to try. His fists pounded on the door over and over, but it wouldn't budge. The smell of Ether gas choked him as the flames crept inside the closed off building. Jane was losing consciousness as the thick smoke engulfed him; eating the precious air that he needed to think and escape.

"Please," he said softly, slumping to the floor, his back hitting the metal of the door as he leaned against it. "Lisbon, please. Help..."

Jane took the last bit of strength he had and reached over for the blue tarp's corner, which was just in his grasp. He took it, placed it over himself to cut the smoke from his lungs, and huddled there. He knew if someone didn't find him soon, he was going to burn to death. Even if the fire didn't kill him, the smoke would. Precious seconds slipped by, then minutes. Erica Flynn was probably gone by now. The only person left here was Jane. He realized that there was nothing left to do. He could hear the faint sound of his ringtone in the distance before that dissipated, leaving him with the crackling fire around him and the coughing from his chest. The smoke was beginning to seep under the tarp, and with a last gasp of breath, he slumped to the side of the door, the tarp falling on his body as darkness took him.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

Lisbon thanked the taxi driver as he pointed down the road and told her the warehouse was a block over that direction. The blue taxi shuffled off and she was alone on the street. She took the first taxi she could hail in front of the hotel, and the blue taxi seemed to be the only ones running this time of day. Lisbon took off at a brisk walk, her jacket moving in the slight breeze. She felt the panic rise up again like bile. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to call Jane again from the taxi.

She took to the sidewalk, walking hurriedly toward Forgia Road. She was half a block up when she first saw the flicker of orange light coming from ahead. At first, she had thought it was a malfunctioning lamppost, but as she got closer, she smelled the unmistakable smell of gasoline and ash. Horror hit her face as she realized that it was not a faulty lamppost, but something burning. The tumble in her stomach raged; the tears threatened to sting her eyes, but she willed herself that she had to concentrate on what was happening in front of her. She didn't want to rush to conclusions, but she also knew there was something not right or coincidental about it.

"Jane," she breathed in a shaky breath. "No!"

Lisbon started running up the sidewalk, the building coming into view and stopping her heart cold. The warehouse was on fire. The entire outside was blackened between the torrid licks. The wood was splintering off and flaming to the ground outside, and the windows were bursting from the flames. The fire was high above the ground, smoking the air and crumbling the old siding like ash. As Lisbon ran toward the fire, she caught hold of a shadow moving outside the building, yanking open a car door. Lisbon reached behind her and into her waistband, pulled her Glock, pointing it into the darkness where the shadow had been. She pulled the hammer back on the weapon and advanced slowly.

With her gun ready to fire, Lisbon kept toward the darkened side of the building, keeping away far enough that the falling timber could not reach her. She could make out the shadow just so, the hair and graceful but hurried movements of Erica Flynn. There was a man with her, who looked as if he were putting empty gas cans in the trunk of the car. Lisbon lifted her gun head level with Erica and stopped a few feet away from her, sliding to her left so that she wouldn't get caught in the billowing smoke from the engulfed building.

"Erica Flynn!" she shouted over the crackling wood. "Stop there! Turn around and put your hands up!"

Lisbon ignored the male shadow running through the back lot and out of sight as she held her gun high. Erica turned defiantly toward Lisbon and shook her head slowly. It was clear on Erica's face that she didn't expect Lisbon to show up. Her features showed a flash of surprise before morphing back into convolution. Erica stepped forward just a step and nodded to the burning flames of the building. Lisbon realized that her fears were coming to the realization. Jane was trapped inside. Lisbon's breath caught as she struggled to breathe normally, the stitches at her side aching as her body trembled violently, the gun shaking in her hand. Lisbon noticed the gleam of Erica's gun in her waistband of her skinny jeans. Lisbon's gaze slid from the building and back to Erica again.

"Where's Jane, Erica?" Lisbon called out. "What've you done to him?"

"It's either him or me, Agent Lisbon," she told Lisbon, a small smile creeping across her illuminated skin. "You can either spend precious time trying to shoot me or you can let him burn to death in there. I think he has a few minutes left, but I'm no doctor," she replied callously.

Lisbon didn't hesitate. Pointing the gun down, Lisbon shot off two rounds from her gun, crippling Erica with a shot to the leg and another to her side. Erica, not expecting the quick shooting of Lisbon or the decision to fire on her, fell to the dirt, crumpling against the car door she opened earlier, her gun falling from her waistband and across the dirt in front of her as Lisbon advanced.

"I can do both," Lisbon told her, reaching for Erica's gun and tucking it in her belt. "If you move from there, I'll shoot you in the kneecaps."

Lisbon turned toward the locked door, flames flying from the cracks between the door and its jamb.

"Jane?" she called out, panic breaking her voice as silence echoed back to her. "Jane?!"

When she got no reply, Lisbon lifted her Glock again, this time aiming at the deadbolt lock on the door. With quick succession, Lisbon shot the bolt twice, watching the bullets as they ricocheted off the metal and fell to the dirt at her feet. The smoke inside billowed out of the gaping hole, and Lisbon took her booted foot and kicked the hole, forcing the door to explode open. Around her, the building outside flickered angrily. If she didn't do something now, she was going to not only be caught in the collapse of this building, but she was going to lose Jane. The fear of losing Jane was much more devastating to her than the building coming down around her.

Pulling her jacket over her mouth and nose, Lisbon stepped inside the building. The smoke was thick and heavy; the only thing she could see in the entire area was something blue at her feet, close to the door. She bent down, placing her gun and Erica's weapon on the floor, and shook the blue object. There was a slight moan issuing from underneath, and it was then that she ripped the object off and saw Jane, in a fetal position, laying on the dirty floor.

"Jane!" she said in a panicked voice. She shook his shoulder roughly. "Jane! Can you hear me?"

She felt for a pulse at his neck and breathed a small sigh of relief when her fingers felt the pounding of his blood through his veins. Coughing thickly, she stood and hovered over him, pushing his shoulder so that he was sprawled out flat on his back. She had to get him out of here. Dragging him seemed the best option, but she didn't know if she'd have the strength to do it alone.

"Jane!" she called once again, coughing at the smoke around them. "Jane, if you can hear me, we need to get you out of here."

There was no movement from Jane. Lisbon rose, grasping the large blue plastic that she had taken off him earlier. Laying it flat beside him, Lisbon walked around Jane's body so that she faced opposite the door, and bent down once more. She placed her hands on the side of his body and pushed as hard as she could, rolling his limp body over halfway onto the tarp.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Jane," she coughed, tears stinging her eyes. If it was tears from the smoke or from seeing Jane this way, she didn't know.

Looking around, she realized the vision had decreased substantially as the fire and smoke spread around them. Lisbon, satisfied that Jane was as secure as she could get him on the tarp, pulled at the edge of the material and started to drag it along the dirt with both hands, leaving her face unprotected from the hazy air. With all the strength she could muster, Lisbon began to pull as hard as she could on the tarp with Jane lying on top of it. The dead weight made her stagger, but after a minute, Lisbon managed to pull the tarp out of the door and a few feet from the burning building. Her muscles ached already, and her hands were blistering from the metal fasteners affixed to the corners of the blue tarp. Soot had clung to both of them in layers; Lisbon's hair was caked in black soot, as was her clothing, and Jane was clear of soot from the tarp being over him, but flakes of it had fallen from her skin and fell onto his golden hair as she bent down to check him once again.

Her hands shook as she reached down and placed a palm on his chest. She could feel the rapid rise of his chest, and she took her other hand and traced his strong jaw line with her fingertips as she gently coaxed him to wake up.

"Come on, Jane," she coaxed softly. "Wake up, please!"

She took her hand and wiped a sweaty blonde curl off his sticky forehead. After a few minutes, she felt a movement from him and felt his warm fingers wrap gently around her wrist of the hand on his chest. His head turned to look at her. Sweaty and tired, he blinked a few times before coughing and inhaling deep breaths of the semi-clean air, gulping it down in heaves.

"Jane!"

"Teresa," he smiled feebly.

He looked over her shoulder and could see the building engulfed in flames. Sirens could be heard in the distance, but it would be too late, anyway, to salvage much. He looked back to Lisbon and reached his other hand up shakily and dusted black soot from her face, leaving a little behind to mesh with her pale, sweaty skin.

"Thank you," he coughed. "I knew you'd find me."

"Shh," she told him, curling her fingers around the hand holding her wrist. "I can hear sirens. Help's coming."

Jane's eyes got wide and he turned his head quickly to look directly at her. "Erica?!"

Lisbon had almost forgotten about her in her haste to tend to Jane. Lisbon leaned back and looked around to where she had left Erica bleeding, but couldn't see anything because the car Erica tried to use was blocking her view. She suspected there was no way Erica moved from where she was. Not in as much pain as she was. Lisbon had gotten shot in the shoulder and felt that pain. It wasn't something one could easily move around without lightbulbs going off in their eyes. She turned back to Jane and put a hand up in the air for him to stay where he was. She knew it was useless and ludicrous because he was too weak to move, but old habits die hard.

"I wounded her," she told him, "but let me make sure she's still there, okay? Wait here."

He reached out for her arm, but she stood up and his hand fell limp to his own chest. Lisbon went for her Glock in her pants but realized that she must have left it on the floor of the warehouse tending to Jane. Slowly proceeding forward toward the open car, Lisbon felt a lump rise in her belly. She was weaponless... _vulnerable_. She slowly turned in a circle, keeping her eye on the car as she did so to where she had met Erica earlier. She slowly turned in a circle, keeping her eye on the car as she did so, to where she had met Erica earlier.

The first sign something was wrong was the dragged blood trail on the ground. Lisbon's eyes gazed over them without clicking what they meant in place right away. She turned her head toward where she left the bleeding woman and was horrified to see that she was gone. Even in the darkness and smoke, Lisbon could see the disturbed dirt on the ground, and the blood trail finally clicked into her mind. Erica had dragged herself across the ground in an effort to get away. Before Lisbon could even turn around toward where the marks were leading, she heard a familiar sound steal her thoughts.

"NO!" a loud, squeaking, cracking voice boomed from behind her. It was Jane's shaky tone.

Lisbon turned back to the warehouse's open door and could see the faint figure of Erica Flynn bracing herself against the door jamb, her body sagging as she tried to stop the bleeding in her side. She faced Lisbon. In Erica's hand was Lisbon's Glock she had left on the floor. Lisbon seemed frozen in horror as she was staring down the barrel of her own gun which was aimed right at her chest. As Lisbon stood in shock and disorientation from the smoke in the air between them, Erica pulled the trigger.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Hope you enjoyed it! Unfortunately, I had to retype this entire thing from memory _twice_, as my computer died, and my outline only gives me basics for the layout of the chapter...well, you understand. It ends soon because the next chapter is the last chapter, including epilogue. It's been so great! Thanks for the reviews. Means a lot. Anything not answered in this chapter will be in the next one... we got some stuff to clear up, don't we ;)**


	5. Lessons In Love

**Lessons In Love**

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

The world slowed down for Teresa Lisbon. The smoke swirled in slow motion around her, and the flames seemed to die down as her vision blurred in blind panic. She closed her eyes as she waited for the bullet to find her chest; waited for the pain and agony to rip through her senses and carry her under for the final time. Lisbon could hear the faint sound of the gun clicking, which surprised her enough to make her open her eyes and speed the world back to normal as she stared at the smokey, fiery doorway in front of her. The sound was that of the firearm Erica was trying to shoot malfunctioning. The casing inside the chamber didn't eject properly, causing the gun to skip the loaded chamber and settle to an already empty one inside the gun.

"No," Erica groaned in pain, the gun shaking in her hand. "No! Shoot!"

Lisbon's instincts kicked in as she ran at the woman trying to make the weapon shoot again. Lisbon took a heavy boot and lifted it to Erica's wounded stomach and kicked her hard, sending Erica flying back into the warehouse moaning in intense pain. The Glock flew from her hand and landed on the ashed floor, ejecting the bullet and firing the weapon as it bounced. The projectile flew through the back door of the car and out of harms way.

Lisbon reached just inside the smoke-filled warehouse and bent down to pull Erica out of it by her leg, taking care to choose the leg she shot earlier. Lisbon was a lot of things, but not a killer. Leaving Erica to die in that warehouse knowing she was too weak to crawl out of it was not something Lisbon stood for. That didn't mean she couldn't inflict some pain for trying to kill Jane and herself. Dragging the bleeding Erica across the ground, she released the woman and sat her against the car, propped up against the front fender. She knew that Erica Flynn was losing blood and was too weak to go anywhere this time. Still, Lisbon wished she had brought her handcuffs with her for peace of mind.

"LISBON!" she heard Jane shout as loud as his voice would let him.

"I'm fine, Jane," she yelled back. "She's not going anywhere."

Erica moaned in pain and put a hand to her bleeding side.

"The gun jammed," Lisbon told her, reaching over in the dirt to pick up her weapon. "Lucky for me."

Erica was breathless and her speech was slurred as she replied. "Too bad."

"It's over, Erica," Lisbon told her, shaking her head. "You can't go anywhere. You're finally caught."

"Don't kid yourself, Agent," she coughed. "You know I'm dying as well as I do."

Lisbon glanced back over to the spot Jane laid. He was sitting up on one elbow now, coughing and wheezing as the burning in his lungs seemed to quell in the fresh air of the night. After making sure Jane was okay, Lisbon turned her gaze back to Erica. There was a strangeness to seeing Erica Flynn lying there bleeding to death. Lisbon never thought it would come to this. She thought Erica would be back in orange in a correction facility. The soft wheezing of her breathing told Lisbon that the sirens in the distance wouldn't make it on time to spare Erica's life. The space between the truth was standing a few feet from one another. Lisbon said nothing as she let the dying woman continue, ragged breaths fighting from her weakened body.

"It didn't have to come to this," Lisbon told her, bending down so she was eye level with the dying woman who had tried to kill both Jane and herself.

"I need you to promise me something, Agent," Erica coughed. "I know you don't owe it to me, after what just happened, but you have a conscious, Teresa."

Lisbon was taken aback by both the fact that Erica was asking her a favor as she sat dying on the ground and that she used her first name, which Lisbon couldn't remember her doing before. What did Erica want? Why was Erica so sure that Lisbon would do anything for her after she just tried murdering both of them mere minutes ago?

"I can't promise you anything, Erica. My job is to not trust you," Lisbon answered back, watching as Erica Flynn began to pale and her breathing became labored and shallow. "But you can ask."

"Let him go," Erica told her. Lisbon had to lean in to hear her, now. "Pretend you never saw him."

Lisbon remained quiet, so Erica continued.

"You...you saw him running, Teresa," she whispered. "_Baba_. Let him take the money and flee to America."

Lisbon quickly flashed back in her mind the man taking off as she aimed her gun at Erica. She had let the man go, temporarily, to focus on Erica and the burning building with Jane inside. She had even forgotten about the shadow running from the scene in all that happened. The smell of the burning, charred wood was stinging her eyes as the wind picked up again and blew it back into her face from the still burning structure. Lisbon shook her head and watched as Erica closed her eyes and moaned softly in pain.

"I can't do that," Lisbon told her.

"Yes, you can," Erica told her. "Let him take the money and get his treatments in America. Prolong his life as long as he can."

Lisbon looked at her oddly. She was worrying about her father getting his treatments. Lisbon supposed Erica was only doing this because she couldn't use the money in death, and she didn't want the gun-runners to have the money back either, or let it go to the Lebanese Government, which is likely where it would have gone if recovered. Her father would also be arrested and likely tried for Erica's crimes, too. Proclaiming innocence in Lebanon rarely got anywhere. Erica Flynn was using her dying breath to ask that her father be granted a chance to live on. Lisbon would have laughed had the situation not have been serious. Erica Flynn did have a weakness, after all. She did have something she loved more than manipulating people and killing: her father. Lisbon had thought Erica was using her father, and perhaps she had, but now Erica Flynn wanted to make sure that she didn't die in vain.

"I can hear the sirens getting closer," Lisbon responded, lifting her head toward the direction of the sirens closing in. "Just stay put. They'll be here soon, okay?"

Erica laughed a small laugh and feebly nudged her head at Jane. Lisbon turned, knowing there was nothing Erica could do in her condition from behind her, and followed her head tilt. Jane was still coughing, but he was at least on his knees, now, and breathing easier.

"Don't be too hard on him," she said, her breathing becoming rattled. "I was counting on him coming alone. Telling you about the kiss we shared was an attempt to separate you. Killing both of you would have..." she coughed loudly and closed her eyes. "Love was my business. I once saw and felt love, myself. I can see it in his face. Don't be hard on him."

Lisbon turned back to Erica to answer her, but she saw that her chest was no longer moving. Reaching over, Lisbon put her hand on Erica's chest and did not feel it rise any longer. She reached up and closed her eyes with her fingers and sighed. Erica Flynn was a manipulator, making situations benefit herself, but in the end, there was humility and care of something or someone other than herself. Lisbon stood, took her jacket off, and draped it over Erica's body. Everyone deserved dignity in death. Her job had taught her that many years ago. No matter what this woman did or what she tried to do, there was a certain degree of sympathy for her. Erica Flynn had been a monster, both misguided and corrupt, but there was humbleness in death.

Lisbon sighed again as the lights and sounds of the emergency vehicles whirled around the front of the building. Slowly, with an air of pity for her, Lisbon made her way back to Jane, who was still on his knees. She bent down and put a hand on his back.

"Jane," she called softly as he coughed. "Jane, help's here."

Jane lifted his head to look at her, his blue eyes clouded and his chest heaving quickly. He gave her a look that she understood immediately. Lisbon shook her head and patted his back.

"She's gone," Lisbon told him. "There was nothing I could do."

Jane nodded slightly and reached out for Lisbon's forearm, leveraging himself up to a standing position with her help. She stuck out her hands and stabilized his waist as he began to sway.

"Let's get out of here," Jane told her, walking forward on weak knees. "Let's go home."

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

Lisbon leaned rolled over and smiled. She reached over and draped a hand over Jane's warm, naked torso and snuggled her face close. She listened to the rapid breathing from him; the sound of his heart rapping against his chest in beats. The sound was a welcomed relief from the coughing and sputtering from last night. She felt Jane's arm snake around her and caress her spine through her tank top.

They had gotten in very late last night. Jane, refusing at first, had gotten oxygen treatment for mild smoke inhalation. The doctors told Lisbon that had Jane not been smart and placed the tarp over his body, he may have succumbed to the smoke choking off his air supply. He had some minor burning in his throat and lungs, which caused him to cough every now and then. Lisbon, for all that had occurred, had nothing but a soreness in her stitched skin and the smell of burning wood in her nostrils.

"How're you feeling?" Lisbon asked him. "Better?"

Jane was silent for a moment before answering her in a throaty, cracked voice. He turned his head to rest on top of hers and drew lazy circles around her skin at her back.

"I'm alive," he told her. "_You're _alive... I am doing just fine."

"So..." Lisbon trailed off, wanting to ease into her next question. "Do you want to talk about leaving me to go do what you did?"

"Yeah," he paused, coughed, and then went on: "It wasn't the best decision," he admitted. "But you weren't in any position to help, Teresa."

Lisbon lifted and turned her head to look at him and tilted her face. Her look was not reproachful. Instead, it was thoughtful. What Erica had told her before she died was correct. She shouldn't be too hard on him. Jane had instincts to do what he could to help people. She had seen it many times in her career with him. It was true that Lisbon was in no condition to be of any real help. The morphine pills had muddied her and sent her into fitful sleep. Still, even in all this, there was a certain rebuke in her that he could be so stupid to go alone to help out a known manipulator. He could have died...almost had.

"I know that," she told him softly. "I still don't like it, Jane."

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I put you in danger."

Lisbon sat up and pushed a hand through her hair and shook her head. She didn't think he got it. He didn't put her in danger. He put _himself _in danger. He almost died trying to play hero. What is more, they had sex in which he insisted she take the morphine pills. He knew Lisbon couldn't be any help for a while when he decided to go to Erica's rescue. He knew he was the only one in that situation and nobody could help him if something happened. Something did happen, and now he wasn't even worried about how his actions almost cost him his own life. He was only worried about her and it irritated her.

"Put _me_ in danger? Jane...Jane are you even _listening _to yourself?" she asked him, slapping a palm to his chest. "You took off from me, went to aid a known convict who murdered her own husband, nearly died because she was bat crazy, and you are worried about putting _me_ in danger?"

Her ire was rising because she couldn't understand his unwillingness to accept that his poor decision nearly ended _his _life. He was only worried about _her_, and she found that unfair. Taking responsibility for what got you in the position in the first place has always been Lisbon's motto. He wasn't apologizing for leaving her and running to Erica, he was apologizing for getting Lisbon involved with it.

Jane cleared his throat and sighed.

"What do you want me to say, Teresa?" he asked. "We were sent here to figure out what was going on, and I did. I know you don't like what I did, but I was doing what I was supposed to do."

"Supposed to do with me," Lisbon answered back. "You were supposed to let the cop do the real work, Jane."

"I didn't know she was going to do what she did, Teresa. I had an inkling, but I couldn't risk it being true," he responded quickly. "Your job is to protect and serve, love. And if you can't do it, then it's up to me."

"You don't feel at least a little horrible for leaving me here?"

"I didn't say that."

"You have sex with me and wait until I wasn't able to help to go play hero to someone you had to know was going to play you for a _fool_, Jane."

"I didn't figure out what she was doing until I got there, Teresa. I swear!" he responded, pushing himself into a sitting position. "And we had sex together," he reminded her. "It was both of our decisions. I might have a keen sense of people, Teresa, but I assure you I had no idea she would call me. And the morphine was for _your_ comfort."

"You didn't figure out anything beforehand?"

"No," he assured her. "I only figured out about the taxi service when I saw it in the warehouse. I remembered what Erica's father had told me at the resort. I didn't figure out she was behind it all until she had a gun pointed at my chest."

"Unbelievable," Lisbon shook her head. "Unwilling to admit that going there alone was stupid."

"Teresa..."

Lisbon didn't let him finish. She disengaged herself from him and hopped from the bed, walking across the hotel room and stopping in front of the bathroom door. Her face reflected frustration. She took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes into slits.

"You're upset with me for leaving you here and going to try to aid someone I once had some contact with," he told her. "I get that. I do, Teresa."

"I'm upset that you put yourself at risk. What would I do if something had happened to you? I barely made it there to drag you out of that burning building! What goddamn good are you doing me dead? You won't even say sorry for any of it, Jane!"

He must have read the anger and hurt in her expression because he got out of the bed and came to stand in front of her. He took her chin in his hand and looked at her closely. He had figured her insecurities were to blame for her sudden unwillingness to listen to his logic, but he saw, now, that she was scared of losing him. She was scared that a decision he made without her would void him in her life. There were no insecurities that upset her. She was just upset that he wasn't careful. She had overcome her fears; had evaporated and faded her insecurities. This was about his stupidity in going somewhere without any help. Even if it wasn't her help, he still had choices.

"I'm sorry," he told her softly. "You're right. You're right, I didn't really think it through. I'm sorry I scared you like that. It wasn't my intention."

Her temper subsided a little and she put her hands on his bare chest. "I'm not doing Flynn a solid, here."

"What do you mean?" Jane asked, letting go of her chin and reaching his hands to hold her wrists between them. "A solid?"

Lisbon turned her head into his chest and felt his arms encircle her, sliding his hands from her wrists, up her arms, and wrapping around her shoulders. She heard the slight rasp in his chest as he breathed against her. She wasn't doing what Flynn said, was she? Her temper had risen unexpectedly. She had planned on letting this slip from her mind, but Jane had made that nearly impossible for her to execute.

"She told me not to be too hard on you," she told me truthfully. "Before she died, I mean."

He was quiet for a moment, letting her slide her hands from his chest to the middle of his back. They stood there in the dim light of the room. Both feeling grateful to be alive, but also to be together here in the moment.

"Oh," he uttered. "I see."

"I'm not just doing it because she asked me to," Lisbon countered. "I don't want to be upset with you, Patrick. We've come too far for it. I just don't want you to miss my point of view."

"I know," he responded. "I am not missing your view, Teresa."

Lisbon closed her eyes as she remembered the night before as the rescue crews were tending to them and then the Lebanese policemen had come to question her and Jane as they watched water being sprayed on what was left of the warehouse. When asked if Erica was the only person involved as far as she knew, Lisbon had answered that she was. Jane, however, seemed to read Lisbon's body language and convey a hint of deception. He said nothing, and for that Lisbon was grateful.

While she was in the hospital with Jane, the Lebanese task force had raided the taxi service headquarters, taking a group of smugglers in as they were fitting another run together. The hidden safe in the floor was empty, and they hadn't found the money on the other suspects. When they asked if Erica had anyone with her or any bags or suitcases, Lisbon had slid into the lie very easily. Much easier than she thought she would. She told them that she thought if she did have something with her, it must have burned in the building. Jane turned to her, reading her lie, but backed up her story completely.

"Is that why you lied about to the cops? Did she tell you something else?" Jane finally asked, bringing Lisbon out of her memory.

Lisbon cleared her throat and opened her eyes. She wasn't going to lie to Jane. He would pick up on it. She had no reason to lie, either. She was still a good person. Still a good cop. Besides, the lie couldn't be proven because no one but her and Jane were around, and Jane never saw the man running from the scene.

"She told me to let her father go with the money," Lisbon replied. "She said to let him go to America and get his treatments with the stolen cash."

"Ah," said Jane. "So, she was human, after all?"

"Who knew, right?" Lisbon chuckled, shaking against him. "I told her I couldn't do it."

"Change your mind?"

"I was thinking of my own dad. If someone had the chance to help him and I asked, I'd have wanted them to at least try. She was a horrible person, but it wasn't his fault for that."

"He was only doing what she asked of him," Jane confirmed. "She told me that herself."

"Well," Lisbon said, "I hope he makes it to wherever he's going. They won't be looking for him."

"Come back to bed?" Jane asked in a whisper. "There is still time before our flight back."

Lisbon leaned her head back and stared up at the blond-haired man of her dreams. She smiled. It was a slow, steady smile that lifted her cheeks to meet her eyes. She was glad they had gotten out of this whole situation unscathed in the relationship department. She had a battle wound on her side, and a coughing boyfriend as tokens off the war fought against both evil and her own insecurities, and now she was glad it was over. Heading home to Austin sounded so good. Looking at Jane, she could see a twinkle of desire in his eyes that told her he felt the same, but also that they had a chance for showing that love they had for each other before heading back home.

"Patrick Jane," she said softly, "are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?"

Jane smiled at her and in a quick sweep of his arm under her knees, lifted Lisbon into his arms and walked toward the bed, kissing the tip of her nose.

"I think you might have some psychic abilities after all, Teresa," he responded, lifting her gently into the bed and joining her. "I mean, if I believed in such a thing, that is."

They made love gently. It was not animalistic like they normally would have sex, but a slow, exploratory lovemaking that reintroduced them to the things that made them tick and burn and shutter. The quivering of each other as they touched places they only knew about. Jane's fingers gently following the arch of Lisbon's back as she shifted off the mattress a little; the way Jane's muscles expanded as he held her close to his chest, kissing her neck and breasts; the joy of fulfillment as both collapsed, sweaty and tired. Even after making love, they lie next to each other and talked about nothing but each other, their fingers entwined together on top of Jane's chest.

It was a few hours later that they were on the plane back to Austin. Lisbon wasn't sorry she was leaving. She was sorry that the circumstances played out the way they did, though. She hated that it ended up with her having to shoot Erica Flynn, killing her. If she could have done it differently, she would have. But she couldn't. She was silent on the plane, thinking of everything that transpired beyond the reaches of the FBI. She was thinking of how it could have turned out very different for her and Jane, too.

But they had overcome it. And that was the important thing. She was no longer insecure about Jane and his commitment to her. She didn't question his level of interest in her or other women. She got her answers very clearly from Jane in Beirut. While his decision to run to Erica bothered her, it wasn't because of her flaws in trust. It was because she couldn't imagine herself missing Jane in her life.

"Lisbon," Jane nudged her arm. "We're landing."

Lisbon looked at him and nodded her head, watching as he turned to the window and watched the plan descend to the tarmac. Lisbon reached to her carry-on as they began to collect their things when the plan finally skirted to a stop. She reached in and grasped the bit of metal in her hand, taking her lip between her teeth before turning back to Jane.

"I think I want you to have this," she said, reaching out for his hand and placing the metal object in his hand.

Jane looked down at his palm and saw the key to her house resting there. He looked up at her and back down to the key.

"They key to your house?" Jane asked, surprise running through his tone. "Lisbon...are you sure?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, looking back to see nearly everyone had left the plane. "I've never been more sure. We've discussed it, and I think you should be allowed in your own house. You do basically live there, already."

He smiled at her, wrapped his long fingers around the key and pocketed. He wrapped his arm around her and led her through the aisle and off the plane.

Everything fades when basked in love. Nothing can survive long in darkness and distrust. There were times when Lisbon wasn't sure if that was even true. But, now, in the new light she saw with Jane, there was always truth in hope. This is what made her feel loved. She felt the relief of _fading insecurities_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is it. This is the_ final chapter_ of Fading Insecurities.**

**This is my first completed multi-chapter. Hope you enjoyed the ride. Look for my next story in the coming months.**


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